


Flashlights Don't Count As Menorahs

by NiteFang



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Humor, Jewish Holidays, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiteFang/pseuds/NiteFang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Noah Puckerman had never had some anonymous creeper leave him presents at his locker, so you can imagine how he reacted when he saw the penlight shining down on a little box taped to his locker. Lucky for the (apparently creepy) student population of McKinley High, he got distracted by the only midget in the entire world population that could get him to give up chocolate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tuesday, December 20, 2011

**Author's Note:**

> For Tumblr's Puckleberry Hanukkah!

            Noah Puckerman was having a very typical day. The alarm rang, he threw the piece of shit against the wall, rolled over, and then waited until his _actual_ alarm start blaring: his sister barging inside with all her over-opinionated, surround-sound glory. He threw her out (literally), hauled her out of the bathroom as she succumbed to her real banshee origins, and then loped into the kitchen right before his ma opened her mouth to scream at him that breakfast was ready. He cleared through whatever his ma and sister didn’t eat, left, kicked Bekah out of the truck at the middle school, and then made it to McKinley early enough to grab a sweet parking space. He walked into the building, earning twenty winks, fifteen flirty smiles, and eighteen approving nods before he even walked fifty feet.

            Typical day.

            What wasn’t so typical was what made him stop at his locker because _what in the fuck_?

            Taped to the top of the door was a small penlight shining down on a small box also taped to the door a few inches below. It was wrapped in a green bow and tagged with _“To Noah Puckerman”_ and everything.

            Puck scanned the hallway up and down, checking to see if whomever had left this was watching him, but aside from the occasional fearful-but-resentful glances Jewfro Ben Idiot was throwing, there didn’t seem to be anyone paying attention. And while it may have crossed his mind that Jewfro could’ve rigged this little present to explode in his face—like a paint bomb or…a _legitimate_ bomb—the fact of the matter was that the guy was harmless. They’d come to an uneasy truce: no more creeping for Rachel’s goodies in exchange for a painless remainder of a high school career.

            That didn’t mean Puck was free and clear to open this shit though. There was still a bunch of other assholes that could actually want him dead. Like that Nelson dipshit on the hockey team.

            He was still standing there, staring at his… _present_ , when Mike and Sam walked up.

            Mike nodded at him. “What’s going on?”

            “What’s that?” Sam reached for the box on the door, but Puck smacked his hand away with a glare.

            “Mine.”

            Sam backed off, hands in the air. “Chill out. Just curious. Why haven’t you opened it?”

            “’Cause he thinks it might be a bomb,” Mike answered, followed by a Puck-Chang fist bump.

            They’ve known each other too fucking long.

            “What are the odds someone in this school was smart enough to build a bomb that small, though?” Sam asked skeptically.

            “They could’ve hid the C-4 in the locker, drilled a hole, and hooked the wirings to a small trigger in that box there,” Puck said matter-of-factly.

            Sam sighed. “Y’all watch too many movies.”

            Mike snorted. “Yeah, whatever, _Avatar_.”

            “That’s one movie!”

            “That you watched, like, eight hundred times!”

            Puck let Tweedle-Blonde and Tweedle-Chang bitch at each other as he stepped forward and shut off the penlight. Nothing happened. Then he tugged on the present. Nothing happened.

            It was a risk, but who _honestly_ would put that much effort into killing him? He wasn’t worth that kind of premeditation.

            Throwing all caution to the colors of the fucking wind, he untied the little green bow and opened the box. Inside were three pieces of chocolate gelt and a free movie ticket.

            “Oh, my god! Everyone, duck and cover!”

            “Shut up, Trouty Mouth,” Puck barked, whacking Sam upside the head.

            “What is it for? Early Christmas present?” Mike asked, peering over Puck’s shoulder before snatching the small box and examining the tag.

            “It’s Hanukkah,” Sam said.

            Puck’s eyebrows shot up.

            “Don’t tell me you forgot,” Sam said accusingly. “You’re the Jewish one.”

            “So why do _you_ know?” Puck asked.

            Sam blinked. “Doesn’t matter.”

            Mike rolled his eyes. “So what are you gonna do with this? Tag’s typed and unsigned. You can’t track down whoever gave you this.” He handed the box back to Puck and leaned against the other locker. “Gonna watchthat new _Alvin and the Chipmunks_ movie?”

            “Don’t project your stupid-ass taste in movies on me, bro,” Puck scoffed, sticking the ticket in his wallet, the gelt in his pocket, and the penlight in his backpack. He yanked open his locker and started pulling out his books.

            “We loved those little bastards, asshole. Don’t deny it,” Mike argued.

            “We were six.”

            “Hello, Noah! Matthew, Samuel—how are you boys this morning?”

            Puck dropped his big-ass Trig book on his big toe and still managed to nod and smirk at Rachel Berry as she walked up to them. “What’s up, baby?” _Smooth._

            “I just wanted to remind you that today is the first rehearsal of our PBS production,” she said brightly, hugging that godforsaken binder—wait, actually, that was a new binder. The other one was a darker pink and was smothered with _Mrs. Finn Hudson_ ’s and _Mrs. Rachel Hudson_ ’s; this one was light pink and clean. “I hope you memorized your lines and submitted your measurements to Kurt, Sugar, and Mercedes for your costumes.”

            “Uh, yeah.”

            “Of course.”

            “Duh.”

            Seemingly satisfied with their lies, Rachel grinned up at them before her eyes moved to the small box in Puck’s locker, and then her face just _fell_.

            “Oh,” she said in a small voice, “it’s the first day of Hanukkah, isn’t it?”

            Puck legitimately felt a couple of his ribs just contract around his heart, and he watched himself reach into his pocket and hold out his gelt to her. “Here,” he said coolly. “I’m not really big on chocolate.”

            Her broken smile warmed into a knowing upturn of her lips. “You, who can eat an entire chocolate bunny in ten minutes flat, are _not really big on chocolate_?” She laughed and shook her head, and either Chang and Trouty Disapparated or he just totally forgot they were there. “Keep the chocolate, Noah. I’m vegan, remember? I can’t eat those, but thank you for the offer.”

            He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand as he slipped the gelt back into his pocket. “You didn’t get any Hanukkah presents from Blackberry and Elderberry?”

            She balked at him. “I…don’t understand that reference.”

            Puck rolled his eyes. “Leroy’s part black, and Hiram’s white.”

            “But I thought elderberries are black.”

            “They got white flowers. Fuck it. It’s hard finding a fucking pale berry, okay, Berry? Christ—”        

            Rachel grinned and laughed again, reaching out to pat his chest consolingly. “I get it, Noah. I get it. Calm down. And, yes, they usually give me something small every night, but they’re currently in Maine with my ailing Aunt Olga who managed to break both arms and legs because she accidentally slid down the banister.”

            “Why the hell is an eighty-seven-year old woman, who can’t even wash her dishes without disjointing her hip, sliding down a motherfucking banister?”

            “She didn’t mean to slide down,” Rachel said. “She was going down the stairs and her pet ferret—”

            “Mr.  Yak Juice?”

            “Mr. Cashews,” she corrected him, “and, no. Mr. Cashews died. This one is Ringo. Ringo apparently darted down the stairs and scared Aunt Olga so badly that she jumped onto the banister to get out of the way, slid down, and smacked into the front door.”

            Puck didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

            “Dad and Daddy now have to cook and clean for her as a favor since she was the only one to attend their wedding from my Daddy’s side. They’ll be back by the thirtieth, which is when her regular nurse gets back from Reykjavik.”

            Puck narrowed his eyes at her. “You telling me you’re spending Hanukkah by yourself?”

            She shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s not as if we’re really _that_ devout—”

            “No, shut up. Whoever’s got a boner for me gave me this free movie ticket, so you and I are gonna chill at the movies then get something to eat. Then we can…light your menorah tonight.”

            She frowned. “Was that meant to be a dirty reference?”

            Puck grinned. “Get your head outta the gutter, Berry. I meant that literally. You want me to come over so we can light your menorah?”

            She totally looked excited but obviously wanted to be socially proper enough to give him a way out. “Don’t you have to do that with your mom and Bekah?”

            Puck shrugged. “We just use those twisty-lamp-candles since we can’t put Bekah near any real fire ever since she scorched her eyebrows and nearly set our house on fire last year. It’s no big deal. I already threw the squirt’s present at her this morning before we left the house.”

            “What did you get her?”

            “An X-Men calendar. Tomorrow, it’s an X-Men poster and then a pair of Avengers knee socks the day after that.”

            Rachel grimaced. “Oh, no. I thought Aviva was able to push her in the Hello Kitty direction.”

            “Kid’s got too much Puckerman blood in her,” Puck said, shrugging. “Beks prefers Goodbye Kitty.”

            “Okay, how do you two know each other?” Sam finally interjected in sheer confusion, scratching his head as he looked back and forth between Puck and Rachel. “And why are you so chummy all of a sudden?”

            “JCC, dude,” Puck answered.

            “It’s a small town, and the Jewish community is very close-knit. There are only a handful of us in the same age group, so whether or not we liked it, Noah and I have history.”

            “I burned her ribbons.”

            “I shaved his head.”

            Sam’s mouth dropped. “ _That’s_ the origin of the ‘hawk?!”

            Rachel rolled her eyes and shook her head. “He burned my silk ribbons because I made him sing ‘From This Moment On’ with me at the JCC’s annual Valentine’s Day Ball, so I took one of Dad’s shaves and shaved off a strip of hair right down the side of his head. His mom had to find some way to salvage it, and since he was going through his Cowboys and Indians phase, he insisted on a Mohawk.”

            “So it was _your_ fault,” Sam breathed in awe.

            She nodded sagely. “Indeed.”

            “Okay, enough remiss—”

            “ _Reminiscing._ ”

            “— _reminiscing._ Gonna be fucking late,” Puck growled, shooting Rachel a glare. “Don’t forget, after school. Movies, meatball marinara, and menorah-lighting.”

            “I’m vegan, Noah!”

            “We’ll get fucking vegan meatballs then, Christ! Tofu-balls or whatever!”

            And so Mike and Sam watched Puck swagger off and Rachel roll her eyes, stomp a foot, and then storm away, muttering about how he always had to carve plans in stone without even checking if the rock was valuable or not or some metaphor like that.

            Neither of them missed how both of these two idiots looked back, just missing each other’s glances, before turning their respective corners.

            “How do you think Finn’s gonna take this?” Sam asked.

            Mike smirked. “Not well at all.”

**~oOo~**

            “Hurry up, Berry,” Puck called over his shoulder. “Move those sexy legs.”

            “Noah!” Rachel cried indignantly. “You’re supposed to be a gentlemen and walk alongside me! _You’re_ the one who harangued me into coming with you—the least you could do is be considerate of my shorter stature instead of loping along, purposefully elongating your stride!”

            “We’re gonna miss the movie, Rachel,” Puck argued. “I’m _purposefully elongating_ _my stride_ ‘cause I don’t think you want me to fucking jog or _run_ , do you?”

            “We can’t miss a movie that we haven’t even decided on yet!” Rachel gave up and jogged up to Puck’s side, decorum be damned.

            “I do not want to watch some sappy-ass rom-com,” he said stonily.

            “Why do you immediately conclude that I want to watch a romantic comedy?”

            “Because you’re Rachel Barbra Berry, _Rachel Barbra Berry_ ,” he said, stopping at the ticket booth. “You’re a _sappy-ass rom-com_ kind of girl.”

            She glared at him, poked him hard enough in the ribs so that he jumped to the side, faced the clerk, and said four words that made Puck’s head spin a little:

            “Two for _Ghost Protocol._ ”

            “ _Mission Impossible_?” he asked in disbelief as he intercepted her money with his free ticket and a twenty. “ _Really_?”

            She glared at him and stepped aside, letting him near the booth again. “You didn’t bother asking me, jerk. You simply assumed that I would want to watch a romantic comedy—much like how you assumed I’d go with you to the movies even though I never agreed.”

            “You’re here now, aren’t you?” Puck pointed out with a grin, stepping into her personal space just as the clerk handed him the tickets and his change.

            “That’s because you waited outside my classroom and manhandled me all the way to your truck,” Rachel said blandly. “You gave me neither choice nor opportunity to decline.”

            “You could’ve run away,” he said. “Like now. Just take off.”

            She turned her nose up at him, said a prim “No, thank you,” and then flounced into the building. “Now come along. I want the best seats.”

            Puck snorted and trailed after her. “Don’t gimme that attitude, you brat. You’re the one who _always_ picked the movie when we were little. _Shrek_ , those godforsaken Disney movies—”

            “The _classics_ , Noah!”

            “—and even fucking _Child’s Play_ , Rachel, ‘cause you thought it was a live-action version of _Toy Story_. I’m fucking scarred for life. You don’t watch those kinds of movies when you still see those kinds of dolls on a regular basis, you know,” Puck groused. “You didn’t even let me turn it off!”

            “When you start watching a horror movie, you _have_ to see it all the way in order to achieve the catharsis of knowing a nightmare will end!” she nearly shrieked, causing a bunch of people to look at them.

            Puck just rolled his eyes. “You couldn’t sleep with the lights off for almost a year and a half.”

            “You shoved all of my dolls _and_ Bekah’s dolls in a plastic bag and threw it into your shed.” She stopped in front of the snack counter and glared up at him.

            He turned to her, their faces inches apart as he growled, “You said _thank you_ for doing that.”

            “Yes, because if I’d let you turn off the movie when you wanted me to, you would’ve _burned_ all of the dolls instead of just tossing them into the shed. See? The cathartic ending works,” she insisted finally.

            “You know what else is cathartic?” he asked with a lecherous grin as he stepped even closer to her.

            “Do _not_ say it!” she barked knowingly. “Just come on.” She grabbed  fistful of his shirt and dragged him into the theater.

            Puck sighed but didn’t stop the small smile from growing on his face.  She could annoy him something fierce, and he could piss her off like nobody’s business. But that’s what happens: sparks, magic, a chemical reaction.

Once the movie started, she hushed him like he’d been the one rambling on about the upcoming movies and practically praying to every god in existence that the _Avengers_ would do the comics justice or some shit like that.

            Not a lot of people knew it ‘cause the whole Broadway-and-musicals-Great-White-Way shit overpowered almost everything else, but Rachel Berry was a sucker for action movies. He thought she’d grown out of it once she really got into the whole Broadway thing a couple of months after they…stopped talking. But apparently, it was like mono. Love for a good action movie just doesn’t go away.

            The crazy chick sitting next to him was exactly the same way.

            She’d get under your skin like some weird illness, and just when you think you recovered and got her out of your system, you realize that no matter what the fuck you try to do, you could never get rid of her. She’d always stay with you.

**~oOo~**

            _“Noah, come on,”_ _she urged, digging her little purple nails into his arm and hauling him out of the kitchen._

_“Calm your cheeks, Berry! Jeez! It’s not like the movie’s going anywhere,” he grumbled, letting her drag him to the living room. “Heck, it’s not like we’ve never seen this movie before. Why_ are _we watching this again?”_

_“Because we were little when we first saw this,” she said, sliding the VHS into the player._

_“We’re still little,” he pointed out dryly. “The top of your head doesn’t even reach the countertop yet.”_

_“We’re not_ babies _,” she corrected herself, grabbing the remote from the shelf. “We’re big enough to know what the stories mean now instead of just watching them for the heck of it.”_

_“We’re seven. It’s not like we’re gonna get that much out of it.”_

_“You might not, but I will.”_

_“So why are you making me watch it?”_

_She turned her big brown eyes on him, and he knew he was screwed. “Because you’re my best friend.”_

_He scowled and tugged on her braid. “Whatever, Berry.”_

_She grinned and then went back to her bossy self. “Hush! Go turn off the lights and come sit down,” she ordered, throwing herself on the couch._

_Puck reluctantly obeyed, flicking off the lights and then hopping over the back of the couch to land right on top of Rachel. She was so used to the gesture by now that she only whacked him in the head with the remote and pushed him off of her. He chortled evilly and sprawled out on the couch as the Disney logo appeared and the music began to play._

_“I’m surprised you’re not singing along with the song right now,” he said._

_“Is that your way of asking me to?”_

_“No, shut up.”_

_“Stop being mean, Noah.”_

_“Shut up. This is the cool part.”_

_“This is when he gets cursed!”_

_“That’s why it’s cool! You get your girly parts, and I’ll get my awesome badass parts.”_

_“Noah! You’re not allowed to say that word!”_

_“Ass,” Puck hissed, snickering at Rachel’s shocked expression before clamping his hand over her mouth. “Now shut up!”_

“Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was spoiled, selfish, and unkind. Then, one winter’s night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away.”

            _“No duh. No hotel would let me stay the night if I gave them a daisy or something.”_

_“Noah, be quiet! You’re the one who supposedly likes this part.”_

“—old woman’s ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress.”

            _“Why was she in disguise to begin with?”_

_“Because she was testing his character, Noah, hush!”_

“—seen there was no love in his heart. As punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell upon the castle and all who lived there.”

            _“See, I don’t get that part. I feel like she was doing that only to punish him like a death sentence because he pretty much has no chance of finding girl if he’s a monster.”_

_“You were the one telling me to shut up two seconds ago.”_

_“It’s a real problem, though. I think that enchantress lady was a-a-a—”_

_“Bitch.”_

_“NOAH!”_

_“S’true, Berry,” he said with a shrug._

_“All I’m saying is that if she wanted to teach him a lesson, she should’ve found a different way to do it.”_

_“It’s—what is it called?—perfect justice?”_

_“Poetic justice,” she corrected him proudly. “See? We_ are _smart enough to understand movies now.”_

_“I need to stop hanging out with you,” Puck sighed. “S’totally gonna ruin my street cred if I start talking about poetic justice and stuff.”_

_Rachel rolled her eyes and patted his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Now stop talking. The song’s about to start.”_

“—for who could ever learn to love a beast?”

**~oOo~**

            Puck never did figure out what her fascination was with the whole _Beauty and the Beast_ story. It got transposed over to her bizarre love for _Shrek_ , even though some plot points were vastly different and shit. Like the talking donkey and the fact that they both wind up being ogres and…a whole lot of other shit, actually.

            Whatever.

            He liked watching movies with her, even though he’d never admit that out loud or anywhere near a telepath or something. If it was the first time through, she’d never say a word and would actually inflict bodily harm if you tried to distract her, but she’d walk away from it, totally analyzing and picking shit apart so even the dumbest movie sounded like fucking _Inception_. He figured it stemmed from being an actress. She had to really get into the characters’ heads in order to really understand and portray it well and stuff.

            He totally got it.

            Which was why he leaned over to her right when the lights dimmed and the movie started and whispered, “Make sure you don’t distract me, ‘kay? ‘Cause it’s hella annoying when you do that.”

            She poked him in the arm, nearly causing some sort of deep muscle bruise ‘cause he fingers are that small and deadly, but she was smiling anyway.

            “Shh.”

            He leaned back and grinned.

            He hoped she wouldn’t be too inconvenienced if he decided he wanted to drag the past into the future. He was gonna spend his Hanukkah with Rachel Berry, not ‘cause her dads weren’t there, but ‘cause—to be fucking honest?—he missed her. And she was gonna spend it with him even if her hair started falling out. ‘Cause the way she’d grab his arm whenever something made her jump? Yeah, he knew she missed him too.


	2. Wednesday, December 21, 2011

            It hadn’t bothered him much the day before, this whole present-leaving-nonsense. It could’ve just been some sort of secret-admirer fluke. But when he walked in the next day and saw that damn penlight beaming down again, he started to get some serious creeper vibes. He had some yesterday, but his paranoia got derailed by Berry’s big brown eyes saying she didn’t have anyone with her for Hanukkah.

            But today…

            Motherfuckers, today was gonna be different.

            He was gonna formulate one helluva plan to figure out who the fuck was doing this ‘cause while he totally appreciated getting presents on Hanukkah and having something to actually look forward to at school, he’d rather be given shit face-to-face than face-to-locker. It was a less-risky surprise.

            Today wasn’t a typical present though. It wasn’t in a box, but it still had a bow: a coffee tumbler duct-taped to his locker door with actual, hot coffee in it.

            Yesterday, it could’ve been a bomb.

            Today, it could be arsenic.

            Tomorrow, it might be something venomous.

            Happy Hanukkah.

            He glared around the kids walking and talking and being their typical douchebag-ish selves, trying to use his latent raptor-vision to see if anyone was watching him.

            “So, is this like a Secret Santa-type deal?” Sam asked, coming up beside him as Puck gently peeled the duct tape off the tumbler.

            “More like a Secret Hanukkah…Armadillo?”

            Puck paused, turned, and narrowed his eyes at Mike. “What the fuck, dude?”

            “That’s what Ross dressed up as to get his kid more excited about Hanukkah,” Mike tried to explain.

            Sam snickered. “That was on _Friends_ last night, right? The Holiday Armadillo.”

            “No. Just…the both of you, shut up.” Puck shook his head and turned back to peeling his coffee off his locker without spilling anything. “Jesus.”

            He finally got it off, popped the cover, and took a sip. “Holy shit.”

            “What?!  Are you okay?! Don’t drink anything!” Sam screeched, diving for the coffee.

            Puck held it out of his reach and elbowed Sam in the chest. “You idiot—I ain’t keelin’ over. This is just some serious brew. Damn.”

            “What? What does it taste like?” Sam asked.

            “Like…chocolate and peppermint,” Puck answered, licking his lips. “And, no, you don’t get any. Go away.” He pulled the penlight off his locker and pulled the door open.

            “Come on,” Sam whined. “Don’t be like that. It’s the season of giving, remember?”

            “Yeah,” Puck agreed with a nod. “I’m giving you a fair warning that if you take my coffee, I’m gonna poke your eyes out and replace ‘em with these penlights.”

            “Good morning, boys,” Rachel chirped, appearing from out of nowhere again.

            “Morning, Rach,” Sam greeted her with a grin.

            Mike nodded and tugged on her hair affectionately. “Hey.”

            She turned her big brown eyes on Puck, who didn’t even look her way. “Good morning, Noah.”

            “’Sup, princess?” he grunted, reaching into his bag to pull out a small green cellophane bag tied with tinsel. He checked if the surprise was still at the bottom before holding it out to her. “Happy Hanukkah.”

            Blinking in confusion, she accepted the small bag and gingerly opened it as he turned back to his locker.

            Sam peered over her shoulder to see. “What’s that?”

            “It’s gelt,” she answered. “Chocolate gelt. But…Noah, I’m ve—”

            “Vegan,” Puck finished, shoving his books in his bag, “I know. That’s vegan chocolate. Asked my mom to get some before I came and got you yesterday since she knows this one chick who owns a vegan store near the hospital.”

            He barely even got the last syllable of the word before the crazy chick threw her arms around his torso was and was squeezing the ever-loving shit out of him. He grimaced and patted her on the back.

            “Thank you, Noah,” she said earnestly into his shirt.

            “Rachel,” he said awkwardly, not really like the fact that this just _had_ to be happening in front of Mike and Sam, of all people. “For God’s sake, it’s just gelt.”

            “ _Vegan_ gelt,” she insisted.

            Puck sighed and rolled his eyes, smiling. Fuck it. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly and even lifting her up off the ground a little before setting her back down.

            “Awww,” Sam and Mike chorused.

            Puck shoved Sam’s face with one hand and smacked Mike with the other. He motioned to the baggie in Rachel’s hand again. “There’s something at the bottom that you can’t eat though. You might wanna pull it out.”

            She glanced down at it before shooting him a suspicious look as she opened it and started digging around between the gelt. “What? What is it?” She suddenly stopped and pulled out a silver ring with a small pink rose on it.

            Puck slammed picked up his delicious coffee and slammed his locker shut, trying not to be obvious about the fact that he was paying close attention to her expression. It took two seconds for the memory to register, but then she was grinning up at him again.

            _“Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle,”_  she recited softly, shaking her head but still grinning. “Thank you, Noah.”

            “I don’t get it. Is it another Jewish thing?” Sam whispered, leaning close to Mike so as to not break this weird little magic bubble Puck and Rachel were in again.

            Mike shook his head with a small smile. “Nah, man. This is a Puckleberry thing.”

            Puck cleared his throat and held out the coffee to Rachel. “It’s too early in the morning for gelt, but, uh, here. You can have some of my coffee.”

            Sam nearly had a heart attack. “What?! But—”

            “But there’s totally no creamer or in it or anything,” Puck interrupted him with a pointed glare. “I’m pretty sure the flavoring’s all in the brew.”

            Rachel’s huge-ass grin got even bigger, and she slipped the ring onto her finger before accepting the tumbler and taking a sip. He seized the opportunity and led her toward her first class, away from Ren and Stimpy.

            Those two were seriously beginning to squirm their way onto the top of his hit list. Well, his mild-attempted-murder hit list. Not the actual one that included idiots like Azimio and the redheaded asshole with the mullet. On top of that list, Trouty and Chinky were topping his suspect list of people who could be his anonymous creeper. They could just be leaving him these presents to make him feel better after that whole Shelby debacle—they _were_ at his locker the both times he found those presents, after all. Maybe he should’ve been looking at them instead of trying to see who else was watching him open the presents and shit.

            But then he reconsidered it when Rachel handed him back his coffee. Jackie Chang and the Albino-Bieber had zero barista skills to make this kind of brew, and if this was pre-made, his good-coffee-finding-skills were shit. Which they weren’t. This was an original, homemade blend; he could tell.

            Then, as Rachel continued to jabber on about how good of a movie _Ghost Protocol_ was but how it also didn’t do a very good job of paving the way for Jeremy Renner to take over the franchise like with _Bourne Legacy_ , he nearly smacked himself.

            _She_ was the one doing it. _She_ was the one leaving him the presents. But why the fuck…?

            He was gonna need to find a way to see if she was the one doing this, leaving these presents—receipts, Sue’s hidden cameras that actually _did_ record things, eyewitnesses, motive?

            Motive.

            Oh, hell, that was easy. She wanted another lick of Lolly-Puck.

            But that didn’t make sense. She and Finn had been dancing around getting back together after that almost-kiss at Nationals in May. He’d been begging and wooing and serenading the shit outta her, but personally, Puck thought none of those were working. The begging somehow wound up with Finn always accidentally-insulting her, the wooing would offend her, and the serenading was kind of always about how Finn couldn’t live without her rather than how awesome of a chick she was. There’s a difference, you know.             It’s like “Jesse’s Girl” versus “Sweet Caroline.”

            Y’all honeys would prefer getting some of that “Sweet Caroline,” and you know it.

            Rachel seemed pretty into it though. But it could just be that she likes the attention not as much the actual content of the attention… Whatever it was, Puck was fairly sure Finchel 2.0 was on the rise. Finn would probably rig some parade of mistletoe by the end of today, which was the—oh, fuck.

            Right.

            Midterms.

            “Noah? Noah, are you even listening to me?”

            Puck rubbed his forehead. “Yeah,  yeah, I think Simon Pegg is super underrated too, but, baby, I think we got bigger problems than how Cruise and Patton had about twenty-percent chemistry.”

            She froze right in the middle of the hallway. “What? What is it? Is has the Christmas special been offered to Vocal Adrenaline instead?! Those—”

            “Okay, calm your shit. No, we still got the special,” Puck cut her off before she could get going. “I’m talking about the fact that I’ve got midterms.”

            She shot him the most exasperated look. “And let me guess: you didn’t study?”

            He scowled and rolled his eyes. “You have to ask?”

            “Noah! For goodness sake, I thought you wanted to do better this year if only to prove yourself a competent man and therefore a good father!”

            “I do, but what in the hell does British Lit have anything to do with being a good father? Am I supposed to use Beouwulf and Macbeth as examples?”

            Rachel rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh that should’ve blown him back into the lockers. “The fact that you actually know those names and know that they’re not exactly good father material is promising enough, I suppose. I’ll meet you at free period, and I’ll help you get some last minute studying in. Your exam is after lunch, right?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Good. We can use the lunch period to study too,” she said, clutching her books and gelt baggie tighter as she stomped down the hallway, Puck at her heels.

            “Berry—Berry! Wait,” he called, running up beside her and shoving aside a few juniors in the process. “Look, there’s only so much you can cram into my head, baby.”

            She paused to study his head for a second before taking off again. “If your head can accommodate your gigantic ego, I’m sure we can shove in a few tidbits about the Lady of Shalott and Hamlet in there too. I’ll meet you in the library after second period, okay? Do you remember where the library is?”

            “Yeah,” Puck answered proudly. “Lauren showed it to me last year, and I totally managed to find eight great make-out spots. Should’ve found that place years ago!”

            She blinked at him a couple of times, like she was seriously wondering how he made it past kindergarten.

            “How did you even make it past sixth grade?”

            Wow, that was an improvement.

            “Just…keep drinking your coffee, Noah. You’re gonna need it.” Then she walked into her first period, leaving Puck in the middle of the hallway with a half-empty tumbler. She actually drank half his coffee.

            As if she didn’t have enough energy already.

            Crazy girl.

**~oOo~**

            He loved the combo of peppermint and chocolate, don’t get him wrong. Loved it ever since he was little and his dad made it for him for the very first time: hot chocolate with a candy cane in it as, like, a stirrer. Not anything original, but the taste was like his tongue’s soul mate.

            On bad nights, he’d drink that shit like he was drinking the Word of God, and then he’d have no problem going to bed.         

            Which is why it probably was a bad idea that he had it in his coffee.

            It’s like his entire fucking being was confused about which one it wanted more: waking up or going to bed. Half of him was about to fall asleep right there on the desk—wipe the books off and just lay the fuck out. The other half was about to start climbing the walls. What was that saying— _the mind is willing, but the body is weak_? Yeah.

            That’s how he felt not fifteen minutes into first period. His coffee was all out at that point, and he was two seconds from just dropping his head onto the desk.

            Two seconds later, he did.

            Five seconds after that, Mr. Welling hollered at him to sit up, and he nearly gave himself whiplash with how quick he sat up. Welling was a buff dude, okay? And if you didn’t sit up when he told you to sit up, he’d punch you in the back until your spine was as straight as a rod.

            Puck blindly reached for his coffee on impulse, trying to get _anything_ to wake up and hoping there was a last little gulp in there before he completely lost consciousness. So when he put it up to his lips and wound up swallowing a gulp that seared his throat, he lost his shit instead of his consciousness.

            “Mr. Puckerman?” Welling called out from the front. “You need help swallowing or something?”

            Sorry, y’all, but he just couldn’t help himself: “You’re the expert, right?”

            Welling cocked an eyebrow. “You weren’t so bad at it yourself.”

            “OKAY!” Joe called out awkwardly from the seat in front of Puck. “I’m still confused as to what a medusa oblongata does, Mr. Welling.”

            Welling shook his head, shot Puck another stern look, and then turned back to the board. “Well, I don’t know what the hell a medusa oblongata does either, Mr. Hart. But a _medulla_ oblongata…”

            And Puck tuned him out as he studied his now-full new coffee tumbler because what in the fuckering hell? He looked around, trying to see if Rachel had ducked under the desk somewhere and refilled it while his head was on the desk, but it wasn’t like she could just run in here and then run out unless she was the Flash or something. Which she definitely wasn’t. Sam was at the other end of the classroom and could not make it all the way over without making a scene or getting called out by Welling.

            Puck glared at each and every student in that classroom, trying to elicit any sort of guilty or smug reaction from any-fucking-one because SOMEONE WAS SCREWING WITH HIM, AND HE DID NOT APPRECIATE BEING SCREWED.

            Unless it was by a hot chick.

            Like Rachel Berry.

            And then he suddenly had this bizarre and sexy mental image of Rachel dressed in a sexy Santa costume with thigh-high leather boots and a skirt about three fingers lower than her silky green panties, pouring him coffee as she sat perched on the desk in front of him.

            Hot damn.

            OFF TOPIC. OFF TOPIC.

            He glared at the class until the bell rang, and when that happened, he bolted out of his chair and grabbed Sam by the collar.

            “Trouty, if you’re the one who refilled my coffee to mess with my head, I’m dumping all of this down your underwear—make sure Karofsky’s thinking you got a hot ass becomes literal,” Puck growled.

            “Puck! Chill out! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Sam cried, squirming out of Puck’s grip only to be grabbed around the neck in a choke-hold. His voice went up two octaves. “Dude!”

            “I had about half a sip left in this cup-thing, I put my head down for, like, three seconds, and next thing I know, the tumbler’s full,” Puck explained as calmly as possible. “Care to explain? This the glory of God or something? Like feeding the five-thousand?”

            “I thought y’all didn’t acknowledge the New Testament!”

            “I still know the story, asshole!”

            “I don’t know, Puck! I swear! I was clear across the room—I don’t know what happened! Maybe you forgot?”

            “How could I _forget_ that my cup’s full, Sam?!”

            “I don’t know! It’s midterms! We’re all getting stressed out!”

            Puck squeezed. “I don’t get stressed. I have too much sex to get stressed out, dude. That’s not it. Something funky’s going on.”

            “What if your Secret Jew-madillo is, like, a magician? What if there’s, like, a secret compartment in there that lets out stored coffee once it senses that it’s low…?”

            Puck paused for a good three seconds before letting Sam go. Poor guy apparently needed all the brain cells he had.

            “Go to class,” Puck grumbled, nudging him out the door. “Useless.”

            “Maybe you need to get some more sleep, dude.”

            “Maybe you need to get the fuck outta my sight, dude.”

**~oOo~**

            The next period, Puck kept his eyes wide open and trained directly on the dark green tumbler because, damn it, if this was a holy tumbler, he was gonna make sure of it. So he sat there and _stared the shit outta that thing._ He took his drinks of course, so it was probably back down to just a quarter left before Brittany made the most random-ass comment he’d ever heard in his life.

            “Why does glass shatter if contact lenses are so mushy?”

            They were in Economics.

            “They’re glasses in your eyes, right? So why isn’t it that glass is mushy? Or why don’t contacts shatter?”

            Puck had to physically turn around to see if she was talking to the class or to her cat or her notebook or fucking _anything else_. But then he remembered what he was doing, and he immediately turned back to his tumbler ONLY TO FUCKING SEE THAT IT WAS BACK TO BEING FULL.

            “What the fuckity-fuck?!” he screeched.

            “Wow, Puckerman, it’s just an innocent question!” Santana barked, throwing her pen at his head from where she sat next to Brittany “She doesn’t know what contacts are made of!”

            Puck ignored her. “Who refilled my coffee?!”

            “What are you talking about, asshole?!”

            “My coffee! It was almost empty, and now it’s full again!” he cried, waving the tumbler around and actually getting out of his seat.

            “Puck, calm down,” Mike said, tugging him back down.

            “YOU!” Puck shrieked. “You did it, didn’t you?!”

            Mike held out his arms. “I don’t have anything to refill it with, Puck. You need to calm down, dude.”

            “Mr. Puckerman, do you need some sort of sedative?!” Mrs. O’Toole demanded from the front of the classroom.

            “No!” Puck snapped, dropping back down onto his seat, and gripping the tumbler for dear life. “No, for God’s sake, I don’t need a sedative, I need _answers_. Jesus Christ!”

            “It’s midterms, Mrs. O’Foole,” Brittany said. “Puck’s brain is melting.”

**~oOo~**

            “Noah? Noah, are you all right?”

            Puck jumped when her hand landed on his shoulder, but he sat back against the chair when she began rubbing his back and shoulders and neck. He’d met Rachel in the library, just like she told him to—hugging the tumbler to his chest the whole time.

            “This damn coffee is driving me up the wall, Berry, you don’t even fucking understand,” he hissed, glaring at some sophomore who walked past them.

            That statement was replied with a hand to his forehead. “Noah, are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

            “I’m _okay_ ,” he insisted. “It’s this godforsaken tumbler that’s demon-possessed or something. It keeps refilling itself.”

            “Noah,” she said slowly, worriedly. “Tumblers don’t refill itself.”

            “Yes,” he said, his eye twitching slightly. “This one does.”

            “Okay, Noah,” she said finally. “Noah, sweetheart, give me the tumbler.”

            “Baby, baby, Rachel, honey,” Puck said in the same tone. “ _No_. This cup is of the fucking devil.”

            “Then why are you clutching it like that?” she asked exasperatedly.

            “Because Satan’s the one filling it up. Every time I take my eyes off it, Beelzebub fills it back up—that devious son of a bitch.”

            “Okay, Noah. Give me the tumbler. No more coffee for you. Just…give me the tumbler.”

            “Okay, Rachel. I am not giving you the tumbler. The moment I give this motherfucker to you, it’s gonna be full again. I need it to stop being full.”

            “You need to stop drinking coffee,” she commanded, reaching for the tumbler. “When I said ‘drink your coffee,’ I meant just one serving. How many have you had?”

            Puck popped the lid and peered inside. “I don’t know. It’s refilled itself, like, two times so far.”

            “Okay, let’s not make it a third. I don’t think anyone is supposed to have that much caffeine before ten thirty in the morning,” she said, trying to pry it from his fingers. “Come on, Noah. We need to study.”

            He reluctantly released the tumbler, and she set it on the table. Then she pushed his textbook in front of him and opened it to the first chapter. He shot one last glance at the tumbler, anticipating the shitstorm.

            And he was right to.

            She walked over to one of the bookcases, and he checked out her ass.

            The half-empty tumbler filled back up to full.

            He showed it to her, spilling some in the process, and when he came back after grabbing a roll of paper towels from the librarian, the spill was cleaned up and the tumbler was full again.

            When he completely lost his shit, dumped the contents in the trash, and pitched a mini-fit that had the librarian in a complete meltdown, he turned around to the see the tumbler back on the table, full once again.

**~oOo~**

            He could say that the only good part about that day was that Rachel dragged him all way back to her house where she gave him a full back massage and let him rest his head on her lap as they had a _Pirates of the Caribbean_ marathon since school was official over for winter break.

            “So are you going to swear off coffee for now?” she asked, massaging his temple. “I told you it’s not good for your nerves especially if you start drinking it at such a young age.”

            “What do _you_ drink then?” he groused.

            “Tea, orange juice, coconut milk—”           

            “Okay, yeah, yeah, I got it. Lots of alternatives.” Puck sighed and shifted so he was looking straight up at her. “I think I preferred the movie ticket, Berry.”

            Rachel smiled distractedly. “I think your nerves agree.”

            “Hah!” Puck cried triumphantly. “You admit it! You’re my creepy gift-giver-person!”

            “Oh, Noah,” Rachel chuckled, shaking her head. “I am most certainly not leaving you gifts. I don’t have the time to go there at whatever hour to set up that elaborate penlight-spotlight-taped-present-thing. And besides, if _I_ was the one leaving you gifts, I wouldn’t be giving you coffee. You know how I feel about your obscene ingestion of that stuff. I don’t mind just one cup, but you drink _way_ too much, Noah.”

            Puck rolled his eyes and groaned. “I know, I _know_. I’m gonna have some sort of heart problems later on ‘cause I drink too much of it.”

            “You started drinking coffee when you were eleven, Noah. You really need to ease up,” she pleaded.

            “Calm your shit, Berry. I’m swearing off that crap for a long time,” Puck sighed, settling back down on her lap. “My brain’s still buzzing.”

            “Good,” Rachel said, running her hands through his ‘hawk and massaging the scruff on either side of it. “Now hush. They mythology of Davy Jones is…”

            And Puck let her ramble on through the movie, closing his eyes and letting her voice dull into the soft melody he remembered falling asleep to when they were little and she just would not shut up to save her life.

            “Noah?”

            “Hmm?”

            “At what point does lying become a good strategy to achieve something for the greater good?”

            “The hell are you talking about this time, Berry? Don’t ask me these philosophical questions when my brain still feels like its floating two feet above my head.”

            “Never mind,” she said, dropping the most random kiss on his forehead. “Go to sleep.”

            And she stroked his head until he conked out.


	3. Thursday, December 22, 2011

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So since I said this was an AU “Extraordinary Merry Christmas,” I figured that a TV network wouldn’t risk making a high school production live, so they prerecorded their little Christmas special. And just for the sake of the holiday, Sue went to the homeless shelter every night after school ended to get her mind off of missing Jean, because I feel like that’s what I would do if my sister had died. Do fucking anything to distract myself.

            Puck honestly thought there wasn’t gonna be a present considering the fact that there was no school and therefore no access to a locker to tape anything on.

            He was wrong.

            He was pretty sure it was one of the gleeks at this point because he woke up wearing a hat—a fluffy knit hat with its own Mohawk—with a penlight taped to his headboard and shining down on him. No one else could’ve gotten into his house aside from the gleeks. Finn the Fuckwit let slip where Puck’s hide-a-key was during glee practice a couple weeks ago, so it was pretty much open access to fucking with the Puckermans this season.

            So the first thing he forced himself to do that day: flip his shit over finding out that someone snuck into his house. Then he decided telling his ma what happened would only induce a heart attack, so she would not know anything about this. After making that decision, he grabbed a coat, some pants, his new hat, trudged outside in the snow, hid that godforsaken hide-a-key somewhere else, and then thanked God that his creeper was a gleek and not someone else.

            He could handle the gleeks.

            That was fine.

            Still pretty creepy, but fine.

            What wasn’t fine though? The fact that this all happened at six in the motherfucking morning ‘cause he had to be at the studio at seven-thirty for this Christmas special thing—which, you know, he wasn’t exactly super-excited about what with being a _Jew_ and all. He genuinely considered bailing and going with Sam, Quinn, and Sue to the homeless shelter, but then he’d never hear the end of it from Rachel, Bekah, and Ma about breaking promises and whatever. As if they hadn’t broken their promise to Sue about helping her.

            So he’d recruited Kurt, Brittany, and Finn to help him out with a little project for later. But that was _later_ —after all this shit was over.

            The “shit” being the Glee Holiday Spectacular. He thought Artie was a great director, but, holy shit, keep homeboy away from holiday specials. He saw some of the costumes and just got so _confused_. Like…none of it made sense. Why were they—? What were they—? _What was happening?_

            This is why he should probably pay more attention in glee practice: to keep these dimwits from getting caught up in dumbass stunts like these. ‘Cause _seriously_?

            So he’s halfway out the door when he gets a call from none other than Rachel Berry shrieking in his ear about how Toyota must’ve issued some recall that totally skipped over Lima ‘cause her Prius is so out commission that the computer’s saying it’s on neutral when it’s actually on drive.

            Obviously, she needed to be picked up.

            So he went and picked her up.

            And since he pretty much swore off coffee for the next couple of years after that bizarre—and frankly _scary_ —experience yesterday, he could barely survive the drive to the studio what with the psychotic idiots with shitty brake lamps all converging on the roads on top of Rachel’s combination of ranting about electric cars and the nationwide problem of DMVs lowering their driving standards to let incompetent drivers be licensed. Jesus Christ. So that was a fun car ride.

            They finally got to the studio where Puck was then immediately dragged inside by Kurt, Mercedes, and Sugar. They were yakking at mach speech about something that sounded like lightsabers and Finn and _braids_.

            Naturally, he flipped his shit again because no way in hell was he letting any part of his outfit involve braids, but it turned out okay since his costume was pretty much one of the very rare upsides of that entire production. He was jammed into a Han Solo costume, which was pretty awesome since Solo was one of the most kickass characters in the twentieth—wait, twenty-first? What century is it?—century. But what wasn’t so badass was the fact that while he got the boots, the vest, the pants, the shirt, and the laser blaster, he also got the _heat_. He was already roasting under the thick material; he nearly _fried_ under the studio lights. One of the makeup chicks was constantly running after him, mopping up the sweat on his forehead. If this had been any other time, he’d totally appreciate it, but she was drying him off _and_ touching up his _make-up._

His _make-up._

 _His_ make-up.

            _His make-up._

So he was hot and sticky in all the _worst_ ways, and on top of that, he hadn’t seen Rachel since he parked his truck. To put the cherry on top, he was in some massive caffeine withdrawal that no amount of OJ and doughnuts could relieve.

            Finn was waving around his dumbass fake lightsaber, the annoying neon green light only adding to Puck’s headache. His small ray of sunshine was that Finn just kept accidentally whacking himself with the damn thing.

            Filming was about to start in an hour when he finally just dropped onto the couch on the set and sprawled out from sheer tiredness. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, and just when he felt himself drift off, he felt the cushion beside his head move. He sniffed the air and knew exactly who it was.

            “Where’ve you been, Berry?” he grumbled. “Been looking all over the damn place for you.”

            “I’ve been in the sound booth, making sure the microphones and the audio tracks are running at a hundred-percent,” she said. “I don’t want there to be any glitches. While I advocate practicing, I do not want to sit in this building singing the same songs over and over just because the audio is faulty. There is no way anyone in glee club should be straining their voices like that. This is why I campaigned for a live production to really bring that element of adrenaline to supplement our performances.”

            “What if someone messed up live?”

            “How is that risk any different from the ones we take in competitions?”

            “Less pressure in this one. We got enough to worry about, baby. Don’t add humiliation on live, _recordable_ television to that steaming pile of shit.”

            She sighed and nudged for him to move. “Sit up. I have something for you.”

            He groaned dramatically and heaved himself to sit up against the back of the couch. Something cold was suddenly shoved into his hand, and he snapped his eyes open to see a large cherry slushy.

            “It is absolutely sweltering in here, and I know for a fact you don’t perform well when you’re extremely uncomfortable, so I commissioned Mr. Schue to bring all of you slushies. I know it’s bad for your vocal cords, but I think heat exhaustion takes precedence. I will personally forego that luxury since my voice needs—”       

            “Optimal preparations, yeah, I know,” he said between huge gulps. “You need your lemon and tea and shit.” He pressed the cool foam against his neck and nearly shoved the whole damn thing in his shirt; he was so hot.

            “Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, Noah, it’s not quite _that_ hot in here.”

            “You’re wearing a sleeveless dress, midget. Shut up.”

            She huffed and rolled her eyes, but continued to sit next to him, sipping her tea.

            “So what was today’s present? Were you able to get it?” she asked.

            He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, still suspicious. “Yeah, I got it.”

            “Well? What was it?”

            “A hat.”

            She grimaced. “A _hat_?”

            He grinned. “It’s a hat with its own Mohawk. I’ll show you later.”

            She shook her head and laughed. “I’m sure it’s wonderful.”

            He leaned close, tugging on her perfectly curled hair to bring her face closer, and then whispered. “It’s fluffy.”

            “How many doughnuts have you had?”

            “…thirteen.”

**~oOo~**

            Needless to say, they got through _seven-and-a-half_ hours of this horseshit before they were all so fucking tired that no one disputed Rory going off-script at the very last minute. Puck figured he did that on purpose so he could read the nativity story without fear of anyone yelling cut since they were all pretty much in agreement that the modified ending of Frosty the Snowman was a pretty shitty ending all in all. They were all ready to pass out by the time Artie hoarsely hollered his final “CUT!”

            But the night wasn’t over.

            Using the energy he got from the twenty times Rachel kissed him on the cheek ‘cause the others kept screwing up the take, Puck whistled and signaled to Kurt, Brittany, and Finn, and the four of them started shepherding the rest of the gleeks out to the cars—their _big_ cars. There was brief moment of potential fisticuffs when Finn tried to tug Rachel toward his truck and Puck smoothly intercepted and nudged her toward his, but Santana distracted Finn by throwing a snowball at him. Puck was able to tug Rachel to his truck before Finn could wipe off his face and blow snow out his nose. Rachel didn’t dispute and didn’t look back. She just laughed at Puck’s hat and smoothed his knitted faux-hawk before hopping into the cab.

            They made it to the homeless shelter in record time, Sam and Quinn looking pretty lovey-dovey behind the counter and Sue looking more human than ever when she beamed at them proudly.

            You’d think that’d be the end of it, right? Happy night to a good, productive day.

            Nope.

            Remember—they were a glee club. So there was going to be singing involved.

            And you’d think it’d be a fun, nice song since there were _children about._

_No._

They sang “Do They Know It’s Christmas,” which had a nice upbeat melody but some pretty depressing lyrics. But it’s not like many of the kids were big enough to really understand, so he kinda reconciled himself with that. Plus this was the product of Schue and too much eggnog, so whatever. Drunk Schue made up for it. Puck then immediately launched into a very incorrect version of “The Twelve Days of Christmas” with Kurt, Sam, Blaine, Rachel, and Brittany, substituting the weird-ass maids-a-milking and that other shit with more fun (and ultimately random) verses that Brittany managed to pull out her ass. So that singing segment turned out pretty well in the end.

            But the best part of the night was Brittany running around with a handful of mistletoe, forcing everyone and their mothers to kiss. Sure, most of the time, people kissed each other on the cheek, but some of these people were _bold_ and planted some _legit_ kisses. Like one scruffy bum grabbed Sue, dipped her, laid one on her, and then went on to do the same to Schue.

            Somehow during that giant mess, his hat wound up on Rachel’s head, neither of them knowing how that happened…until Mike pretended to try kissing Puck and accidentally knocked him into Rachel, who was standing right beside Brittany and her mistletoe.

            “Puckleberry!” Brittany shrieked over the din as Puck smirked down at Rachel. A bunch of the gleeks actually started clapping and hollering, and the little kids joined in so that nearly everyone was cheering them on.

            “Keep it G!” Santana yelled from somewhere.

            Rachel rolled her eyes, grinned, stood up on her tiptoes, and Puck met her in the middle. It was like being deprived of your favorite food. He remembered what it tasted like, but the moment he had it on his tongue again, it was like… _damn_. With other chicks, he’d kiss them and his brain would sort of smooth out. Anything sexual was like his classical music—it’d soothe his brainwaves and shit. But with Rachel— _damn_. It was like parts of his brain would kick into overdrive, and other parts would short out so he was hyperaware of everything about her and nothing else. The smell of her skin and hair, the taste of her lips, the warm breaths, and the very non-manly hands burning against his chest through his shirt.

            It was an innocent kiss by their standards, but it was enough to elicit some catcalls and Artie yelling, “We got youngins in the house! _Youngins_!”

            Puck reluctantly let go, not remembering when he’d put his hands on her waist and blinking some funky-ass lights out of his eyes. He then scratched his face where the fur edge of his hat tickled him, an excuse that worked to cover up his big-ass smile, only to see that Rachel was blushing and tugging the hat down lower for the same reason. She was grinning like a maniac. Puck liked that smile so much that he couldn’t help but steal one little kiss when everyone turned to look at Brittany dangling the mistletoe between Finn and Blaine.

            “No! We already went through this before with Rachel!” Kurt shrieked. “Brittany, _move away_!”

            While everyone was too preoccupied with laughing at Kurt chasing Brittany, Puck stepped closer to Rachel again. He leaned down and asked, “So…you and Finn?”

            He tugged on one of the strings of his hat as she fiddled with her fingers and then looked up at him. “Finn and I are friends.”

            “Nothing more?” he asked with a smile.  
            She grinned. “Nope.”

            “What about you and me?”

            “What _about_ you and me?”

            “Don’t be like that, baby.”

            “Don’t be like _what_ , Noah?”  
            “ _Berry…_ ”

            She slipped her arm through his and gripped his bicep in a very familiar way. “Let’s just take it slow, okay? After the… _thing_ that happened between you and Shelby…”

            They both shuddered—one out of disgust and the other out of pure shame.

            Rachel took a deep breath and continued, “You and I have a tendency to go from zero to a hundred.”

            “Glycerol and nitric acid don’t usually take their time reacting, baby.”

            “But supernovas do, right? It takes a while to build all that up into something beautiful.”

            “That’s a pretty shitty comparison considering it’s not fun to be _in_ a supernova, Berry,” he said. “And supernovas usually end in black holes, right?”

            Rachel grimaced at her metaphor as they watched Brittany holding Kurt in place as he squirmed to get away from the Kissing Bum. But then Rachel squeezed his arm and grinned up at him deviously.

            “Fireworks then. Fireworks have long fuses so that the people who don’t need to be in close proximity have time to get away before they launch into the sky and put on a dazzling display that directs every eye toward them in awe.”

            Puck snorted, shaking his head. “You’re so sappy.”

            “And you’ve got more bark than bite,” she countered smugly. “I guess we make a good tree.”


	4. Friday, December 23, 2011

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found myself constantly writing “Mike and Matt” instead of “Mike and Sam.” Sigh. A dynamic duo whose potential for diabolical shenanigans went to waste. So if you see the latter instead of the former, please tell me. I don’t want to confuse people into thinking Matt teleported over from Houston.  
> Oh, yeah, and I don’t know what episode Joe actually transferred into McKinley…or if he’d been there the entire time and just wasn’t a featured character or… I don’t know. Whatever. He’s here.  
> And in my eyes, Rachel is not a shitty cook. While the scene was apparently quite adorable (from what I’ve seen in gifs and clips), if she can make sugar cookies, I’m pretty sure she can follow a simple recipe. Therefore, no food will be burned in this story.

            Puck stumbled down the stairs in his Mohawk hat and PJ’s, cursing the very concept of time and whomever decided 8 AM was a reasonable hour to get up. Because seriously? It was winter break. While 8 AM wasn’t as early as yesterday, it was still obscene, because, DUDES. _Winter break._ Which was exactly what he said to the two numbnuts standing outside his front door as soon as he yanked it open.

            “Yeah, but look!” Sam said, throwing out his arms. “It snowed last night, so we got a whole new layer we can play in! We gotta savor our childhood.”

            “If you savor your life, you better get the hell off my property,” Puck growled, his simmering fury countering the freezing wind chill factor and snow flurries.

            Naturally, his threats were ignored.

            “And you’re lucky we got here early,” Mike said, grabbing the front door. There was distinct peeling-tape noise, and then a rectangular box and another penlight was sitting in Puck’s hands. “Someone could’ve stolen your stuff.”

            Puck glared at the both of them as they _let themselves into his house_. “My ass. Y’all planted this. It’s you two, ain’t it? I know it’s one of the gleeks, and it’s only a matter of time before I find out who’s got their own shrine of me in their bedroo—”

            “HELLO?! CAN SOMEONE HELP ME HERE?! IF _I_ AM THE ONLY ONE BRINGING ALL THIS FOOD IN, _I_ WILL BE THE ONLY ONE TO EAT IT ALL!”

            Holy shit.

            Mike and Sam dashed back outside, and Puck loped after them to see Rachel standing at the back of Mike’s car, perfect ass sticking out as she bent over the trunk. She suddenly straightened, balancing a huge plate of latkes and an equally huge plate of pancakes.

            “Good morning, Noah,” she said brightly, blushing a little before shoving the plates into his hands and turning back to grab some more food—turkey bacon and grits, it looked like—out of the trunk.

            “Please, for the love of God, don’t tell me the gleeks are coming over,” he begged her.

            She handed Sam the bacon and grits, and then reached back into the trunk to hand Mike some eggs and waffles. “Apparently, you were _not_ on Facebook last night.”

            “I hate Facebook. All y’all know that.”

            “And yet you still have one.”

            “Which I used, like, _twice_ before never getting back on and then eventually forgetting the password. “

            “Well, that’s just too bad,” she said, hoisting out two boxes of Krispy Kremes and then slamming the trunk. “Surprise and happy Hanukkah!”

            Puck just blinked in confusion. “What?!”

            She rolled her eyes and nudged him back into the house. “Sam posted a status about the snow storm last night, to which Mike responded with an emphatic ‘snow ball fight tomorrow’ complete with five exclamation points. Joe and Rory then liked Mike’s comment, prompting Brittany to reply with a fully-capitalized ‘glee snow day,’ which was subsequently liked by the rest of the gleeks. Sam then volunteered your house since he loves talking to your sister about Marvel comics, and everyone else agreed that it would be a good idea since apparently the layout of your yard is perfect for snow activities. Finn naturally made it into an even bigger event by throwing out the idea of having breakfast first and _then_ snow day, which honestly sounded like a good way to get all of you to have the good, healthy breakfast you’re supposed to get. I made the latkes, pancakes, and grits; Mike made the waffles, the eggs, and the bacon; Sam bought the doughnuts. Kurt, Blaine, and Tina are bringing the pastries that can function as a snack later on; Mercedes, Finn, and Artie are bringing the coffee. Santana, Brittany, and Quinn are bringing an array of fruit juices and actual fruits. And honestly, I lost track after that.”

            By the time she finished, they’d pretty much set up Puck’s kitchen with the food. Her entire explanation was then punctuated by the sound of more car doors opening and closing—and then the pounding of footsteps coming down his stairs.

            “I did not sanction this!” Puck nearly shrieked as his ma’s eyes progressively got wider when she saw the table and then the troop of glee clubbers flooding her house—thankfully stomping their shoes clean of snow before stepping inside.

            “FOOD!” Bekah screeched, leaping down the stairs and nearly tackling Rachel. “Hi, Rachel! Why are you guys here? What’s with all the food? OH! Happy Hanukkah!”

            Rachel laughed as Brittany swooped in and hoisted Bekah into her arms.

            “LITTLE SIBLING!” Blondie cried happily, tossing Bekah into the air. “I have juice! You want juice, Little Puckerman? Which juice do you want? Orange? Apple? Grape? Mango? Pineapp—”

            Kurt swept to the rescue, snatching Bekah and setting her back on the ground with a solemn warning, “Whatever you do, do _not_ take Brittany’s offer of her special jamboree juice.  It’s just a mixture of all the juices, and you’ll either throw up or start crawling the walls because of the sugar rush.”

            “Is _that_ what happened to her?” Blaine asked, setting the jugs and boxes of breakfast pastries on the counter. “I thought that was just the bear claws.”

            “It’s both,” Mercedes sighed. “At the rate she’s going, I don’t know if she’s capable of crashing.”

            “No, she’ll be fine a few hours,” Santana said before punching Finn’s shoulder. He was standing in the middle of the kitchen looking lost. “Hey, Michelin Man, come help me get these cups down.”

            Joe’s mouth dropped. “ _Hours_?!”

            “Remember seventh grade when she ate eight of those giant pixie sticks?” Mike chortled. “She gave the Energizer bunny a run for its money.”

            “I’m pretty sure you guys nearly got pulled over earlier,” Artie said. “I saw her roll down the window, stick out her head and shoulders, and start belting out Christmas carols. The cop turned on his lights, but then changed his mind and shut them off.”

            “Brittany…has a weird relationship with cops,” Tina said. “I saw a group of them wave at her when she walked past the station a few weeks ago. They looked nervous, though.”

            Everyone’s heads swiveled onto Brittany, who was attempting to give a very confused Finn a piggyback ride.

            Rory frowned. “Why? I didn’t know that she’s ever been arrested.”

            “She hasn’t,” Santana and Quinn chorused.

            “Just…don’t ask,” Quinn muttered, patting Rory on the shoulder and then pulling out stacks of plates from the cupboards. “Come on, let’s eat before everything gets cold.”

            Puck just stood there beside his ma, wondering how the fuck this all happened.

            “Noah? Aviva?” Rachel called, coming up to them with a grin and dragging them into the fray. “I hope you don’t mind we’re all here. I remember you saying that you missed your house being filled with people eating and laughing, Aviva, so I didn’t dispute their idea of taking it here. Come on—have some breakfast before you go to work. Finn and Rory are going to drive you there, and Sam and Mike volunteered to pick you after your shift as a thank-you for letting us use your house. We’ll clean up after, I _promise_.”

            Aviva sighed, and patted Rachel’s cheek. “Why hasn’t my son married you yet?”

            Puck grabbed his mother and nudged her toward the coffee. “Sorry,” he muttered to Rachel as Mike and Sam snickered in the background. “She, uh, worked a double shift yesterday.”

            “Go eat,” Rachel commanded Cheech and Chang before turning back to Puck. She smiled, tugged him down, and kissed him lightly. “It’s fine. Now come eat. We’re burning daylight and melting snow.”

**~oOo~**

            “Wow, you guys are all insane,” Bekah laughed from where Sam had physically thrown her into the snow drift. Half the gleeks were on the ground, caked in snow, and the other half were finishing up their snowmen, women, and creatures.

            What made the sight even more strange was the fact that they were _all_ wearing sunglasses. Puck had on his new aviators—courtesy of his creeper—and was looking like the badass he was as he finished up his snow-demon.

            It was a hell of a way to burn off that big-ass breakfast.

            Finn and Rory had chauffeured his ma to work, and the rest of them cleaned up the house, storing the surprisingly small amount of leftovers, and finishing off whatever they could before taking a break in the living room for some Halo, Call of Duty, and Dead or Alive. When Rachel and Kurt finally announced that the window of potential appendicitis was closed, the gleeks poured out of Puck’s house and demolished the pristine winter wonderland of his yard.

            They already had two snowball battles—yes, _battles_ —that ended in truces since they were all too evenly matched and were now just enjoying the snow and being utterly lame. Deformed and full-on mutant snowmen were like the guards of the property, lining the sidewalk and the driveway. Brittany tried to get them to make her into a mermaid the way they would if they were on a beach, but Santana dragged her out, screaming in Spanglish about frostbite, pneumonia, and whatever-the-hell else she must’ve pulled off of Web M.D.

            There was absolutely no shortage of snow since it was still coming down in increments—flurries, near-blizzard clumps, and then back to flurries again. So when Santana called out, “Hey, bitches, it’s almost time for me to go—let’s end this feud,” everyone started arming themselves with even bigger missiles.

            Puck grinned evilly and pulled Berry, Bekah, and Kurt behind one of the bushes, knowing that these three were the reasons why the teams were so evenly matched. Rachel and Bekah could make the snowballs at top speed, and he and Kurt were on par for precision and accuracy. And up until then, they’d been on opposing teams.

            “Listen up,” he said to them. “Those other idiots are gonna have their teams, but we’re gonna prove that they’re fucking _nothing_ without our gorgeous, bad asses.”

            “Wait, was that one word or two—bad ass or badass?” Kurt asked.

            Puck blinked. “Whatever. You pick. Now, there’s a trellis near my window, so we’re gonna use that to get up to the roof. Berry, Bekah—you two are gonna build up our arsenal, and Kurt and I are gonna pick off everyone—like snipers. We’re gonna be all over the roof, getting different angles, so you’re gonna be in the middle. Make sure you’re out of sight, so stick close to the skylights.”

            “They’ll never see us coming,” Bekah said in a voice that made Rachel grin proudly and Kurt look extremely worried.

            “You Puckermans,” he muttered as they scaled the trellis and army-crawled across the roof. “If the zombie apocalypse ever comes about, please come get me if I’m not undead yet.”

            “Yeah, sure,” Bekah said nonchalantly. “You make good croissants.”

            “And don’t forget Rachel too,” Kurt added as he peered over the top of the slope of Puck’s roof, gauging where everyone else was.

            “Oh, she was already understood as part of the team. We figured that out years ago,” Bekah said. “Have you ever seen her hold a shotgun?”

            Puck smirked, remembering the day when Hiram Berry decided that it would behoove his petite daughter to know the ins and outs of guns, knives, and martial arts supplemented with the wisdom to know when to use them. “It’s hot.”

            Kurt stared at his three comrades-in-arms and just looked so _confused_ —like he didn’t know whether to be impressed or afraid.

            “Now shut up,” Puck hissed. “They’re getting ready.”

            He glanced down to see that Rachel and Bekah had already formed an impressive stash of snowballs in the couple of minutes they’d been sitting at their base.

            Puck and Kurt grabbed several and poised themselves at the crest of the roof just in time to hear both Finn and Santana screech, “FIRE!”

            It was a whole shitstorm from then on. Their little clandestine operation nearly fell apart because the four of them couldn’t stop laughing at the way each team kept screaming at each other indignantly, not knowing that they were getting hit by Puck, Kurt, and eventually Rachel and Bekah.

            “OW, YOU FUCKTARDS! You hit me there again, and you’ll be paying for my second boob job!”

            “I can’t feel my ear! Stop aiming for my ear!”

            “I can’t move my chair! Time out! Wheels ain’t wheelin’!”

            “Not the hair! Not the hair! Not the hair! Stop with the hair!”

            “I can’t feel my lips! Who keeps aiming at my lips?!”

            “What the hell?! I don’t have a target on my ass! I barely _have_ an ass—stop aiming for my ass!”

            “ENOUGH!” Quinn finally shrieked at a volume none of them ever thought possible for her. “Oh, my _God_! Who has a machine snowball gun?!”

            “Hey—where’s Puck and Rachel? And Kurt and Bekah?” Rory asked, emerging from a hill of snow.

            Mike and Santana caught on _quick_.

            “Those bit—”

            “ _HEY_! _Tramposos_! Cheaters—show your ugly-ass mugs! Where you idiots at?!”

            “THEY’RE ON THE ROOF!” Tina shrieked.

            And in less than two seconds, snow started raining down on the foursome. The grounded gleeks weren’t even bothering to make snowballs at that point; they were just chucking handfuls of snow up at them.

            Laughing until they were bordering hysterical tears, the four of them carefully made their way across the roof, back to the trellis. Bekah had latched onto Kurt, her new favorite gleek, and Puck had Rachel securely against his side.

            “This was _brilliant_!” Bekah crowed.

            Puck was about to agree when Rachel suddenly slipped right off the roof. He quickly reached for her and fell with her, twisting so that he was the one to hit the snowdrift first and cushion her fall.

            “Noah! Rachel!” Bekah screamed.

            “We’re okay!” Puck called out, a little winded but still chortling.

            Rachel, still on his chest, propped herself up on her hands, her long hair falling into a curtain around their heads.

            “Hello, there,” she said with a grin. “Thank you for breaking my fall.”

            “Thank _you_ for nearly breaking my neck,” he said.

            “So dramatic,” she said with a scoff. Then she bent down, kissed his neck, effectively magnetizing his hands to her ass. She let out a laugh that warmed his face before dropping another kiss to his lips. This one was soft and warm, but still had him burning up so hot he wondered why the snowdrift wasn’t a puddle.

            “Hey! Lovebirds! You sure you’re alive down there?!” Kurt called amidst the deluge of snow.

            Puck grinned lasciviously. “Definitely—every limb is still good.”

            Rachel smacked his chest and jumped off of him, dragging him up with her in the process. “Brute.”

            He kissed the side of her head. “ _Berry_.”

**~oOo~**

            By the time Mike and Sam left and returned with a weary Aviva Puckerman, the gleeks were gone, leaving behind their surprise Christmas presents for the family. The second surprise of the evening was Rachel’s delectable dinner spread that greeted Aviva upon her arrival.

            “Rachel—honey—you didn’t have to do this!” Aviva said, grabbing Rachel and clutching her tightly.

            “A-A-Aviva—”              
            “Ma—Ma! Ma, for God’s sake, she’s never gonna be able to do this again if you don’t let go,” Puck said, tugging Rachel out of his ma’s grasp. “Just say thank you, shed a few tears, and go get changed. I think that’s blood on your shirt.”

            Aviva tutted at her son before disappearing up the stairs for a shower. She looked back and smiled at the way Rachel smoothed out Puck’s shirt and he tugged her hair before slinging his arm over her shoulder and walking her to the living room.

            A spring wedding. Most definitely. That way Rachel had fresh flowers. Noah loved fresh flowers—as long as he wasn’t the one gardening them, of course. The wedding wouldn’t happen any time soon, but certainly before either teenager reached their thirties. She didn’t think Rachel would wait that long, Broadway career or not.

            That thought was reaffirmed as she watched her son and his girlfriend—official or otherwise, it was carved in stone and inlaid with gold in her mind—bicker between themselves and Bekah as the three of them relayed the story of the infamous Operation Snowstorm that occurred on her roof. She grinned at them through the kugel and latkes Rachel managed to perfect over the years, and her grin got even wider when Hiram and Leroy suddenly called to say hi. They wound up being put on speaker in the middle of the table, sharing a dinner from a few thousand miles away.

            It was a bizarre family dinner, full of anecdotes involving snow or ferrets, pixie sticks or walkers, and waffles or staircases. By the time the tables on either end of the phone were cleared, Bekah was about to pass out. She finished up her cake and said her good-nights while Rachel took back her phone and said her goodbyes.

            Aviva gulped the last of her decaf coffee, paying attention to the way Puck held onto Rachel before she could fully descend into tears in the middle of her _I-miss-you_ ’s and _I-love-you_ ’s. She would lean against him, and he’d stroke her back and kiss her temple. Aviva nearly wept on the spot.

            “Stop spying, Ma,” Bekah hissed before climbing the stairs with her warm milk. “Good night.”

            Aviva shushed her and smacked her bottom. “Go on. Sweet dreams, baby.”

            “Make sure Rachel doesn’t leave,” drifted down the stairs as Bekah turned the corner.

            “I think your brother’s accomplished that,” Aviva muttered to herself, eventually following her daughter’s example and getting ready for bed.

            As she did every night, Aviva descended the stairs one last time to check the doors and windows. She found the TV on its lowest volume setting and her favorite couple passed out on the couch. Rachel was settled between Puck’s legs, her head resting on his shoulder. Puck himself had his arms wrapped securely around her, his lips near her temple as if he’d fallen asleep in the middle of kissing her head. Aviva grinned again, feeling her bottom lip tremble. Then she shut off the TV, pulled the blanket off the recliner, draped it over Puck and Rachel, dropped a kiss on both their heads, and went to bed with good tears in her eyes that night.


	5. Saturday, December 24, 2011

            There was no preamble the next morning.

            Puck woke up knowing exactly who was sprawled on top of him, burrowing her face against his chest and squeezing him tighter as she shifted around to get comfortable again. As if sleeping on top of a _rock_ was comfortable. But she was about to get more uncomfortable _real quick_ ‘cause when a dude wakes up _in the morning_ with a _girl_ _on top of him_ …

            Yeah.

            So he shifted around to try and slide out from under her when she suddenly stiffened. Puck winced. Moving slowly, she lifted her head and blearily blinked at him. At first, he thought she was gonna flip her shit and jump off of him, but instead, she smiled and kissed his chest.

            “Morning, Noah,” she murmured, resting her chin on him.

            He smiled and brushed her hair off her face, biological salute forgotten. “Mornin’, baby.”

            “Good morning, sleepyheads! Now move your bodies _._ ” Puck and Rachel turned to see Bekah, one hand holding a bear claw and the other on her hip. “Scooch!” she commanded again.

            Puck groaned, remembering why it was a bad idea to play dreidel with his sister. They’d played the night before, and she kicked his ass—won morning TV privileges. He sighed and stretched, smirking as Rachel continued to hold onto him sleepily.

            “Come on,” he said, maneuvering her so she wound up bridal-style in his arms. “Time to feed the gnome.”

            “The gnome is within the parameters of average height,” she complained, nuzzling against his neck and making his eye twitch.

            Puck snorted. “The gnome is gonna be put down on a chair, okay?”

            “All right. The gnome wants apple juice and latkes, please.”

            Puck kissed the top of her head before she dropped it onto her folded arms. He’d stared at her in sheer disbelief when she’d told him how she’d woken up at some ungodly hour to get the breakfast ready, and he was there to see how she cleaned, played in the snow, and then fixed up one hell of a Hanukkah dinner before passing out right on top of him. He knew she’d had one long fucking day. He figured it was his turn.

            So he fixed her up some latkes with fresh strawberries and mango slices, tickled her side to get her to sit up, and set the plate down in front of her. Naturally, his ma walked in right at that moment, nearly swooning on the spot. Thankfully, she composed herself and went to make some coffee. Puck was grateful she didn’t comment _too loudly_ ; he still heard her whispered “ _best Hanukkah ever_.”

            Truthfully, he agreed.

            By the time Rachel was done with her breakfast, she was lucid and ready to bitch-slap the world, so she said goodbye to Bekah and Aviva before tugging Puck out the door toward his truck where he found his fourth present: an actual Surefire™ flashlight taped to his headlight (“Holy shit! This is, like, a hundred-fifty-dollar torch, Rachel! You can either blind muggers or give ‘em concussions with these things!”). She let him fanboy over his little flashlight for a few minutes before pushing him into his truck and ordering him to drive her back to her place. When they arrived, she didn’t have to do much begging for him to help her make the Christmas sugar cookies and cupcakes for Santana’s Christmas party the next day.

            Rachel was a pretty devout Jew—no pork, Hanukkah, temple, bat mitzvah, all that Jewish jazz—but she was a sucker for Christmas music. So that entire Christmas Eve day was spent making Christmas-themed pastries and listening/singing along to Christmas music.

            Puck honestly didn’t mind.

            Hell, he got to eat cookie dough, batter, frosting, and icing while watching Rachel shake her ass to “Jingle Bell Rock” and “Winter Wonderland.” He even sung along with her on some. They set up a really sweet (literally and figuratively) system where she’d prep the ingredients, he’d stir the batters, and they’d both fill the cupcake liners or shape the cookies. They spent the morning and the better part of the afternoon making the shit, and then by around three, they started decorating. Snowmen, Santa, reindeer, mistletoe, jingle bells, presents, stockings, gingerbread men, and even fucking elves—if Puck never ate another cookie or cupcake, it’d be too motherfucking soon. Unless he was tasting it from Rachel’s lips—which was what happened most of the time. Up against the wall, on the table, on the counter, on the barstool—any place he could viably kiss her, he did. He was happy to reacquaint himself with her lips anywhere.

            When they weren’t kissing, singing, or arguing about how Puck’s Santa looked anorexic, Rachel was chattering on and on and on about what would happen when they got back to school. He pinned her against her the counter and kissed her for a solid ten minutes when she announced, “We’ll walk in through those doors arm-in-arm, haters be damned, because I’ll _obviously_ throw up my own vocal cords before having a boyfriend and not showing him off.”

            How could he _not_ kiss her after that?

            Anyway, she talked about how they’d break legs at Regionals and then crush dreams at Nationals because this was _for sure_ their year—she could feel it in her bones and in her slightly-psychic instincts. When he asked her what happened after that, though, she stopped and sighed.

            “I want NYADA—really, I do. But I feel like maybe it’s not where I’m meant to be, you know?” She finished up a perfect while snowflake on a cookie, examined it, and then ate it. “Countless Broadway actors and actresses have succeeded on the stage without needing NYADA, and if I go there, I will wind up specializing in theater.”

            “Isn’t that what you wanted?” Puck asked, finishing a perfect yellow star on a star-shaped cookie.

            “Well, obviously, but now I’m worried that my talents aren’t practical enough? What can acting and singing do to help me survive th-the _zombie apocalypse_.”

            Puck paused, hand in air as he reached for another cookie. “I’m such a bad influence on you. I’m so proud of myself, you don’t even understand right now.”

            “Noah!”

            “What?! S’true!”

            _“Noah!”_

Puck sighed and dropped the squeeze-thing to come and put his arms around her waist. “Baby, you’re gonna be fine in the zombie apocalypse, remember? You might not be able to swing a bat or a machete like me or the Fathers Berry, but all you need is your rifle or your shotgun, and you’re good. We can teach you how to swing a sword or whatever later. You’ll survive, so no worries about any apocalypses. You can cook, record history, garden, clean, shoot people from a turret, and… _make babies_.”

            “Noah.”

            “It’s _true_ , Berry!”

            “I know, but still…”

            He squeezed her and dropped a kiss on her nose. “You go to fucking NYADA, Tisch, Juilliard—wherever you want—and don’t fucking worry about any apocalypses. Okay?”

            She nodded reluctantly.

            So he kissed her, hands going to her thighs to lift her up and wrap her legs around his waist, until she said “okay” with more of her Rachel Berry spirit.

            “Good. Now let’s finish this shit up. I wanna take a nap before I show you this one place I know you’ll like,” he said, setting her back on the ground and picking up that godforsaken squeeze-thing again.

            She smoothed her hair and readjusted her skirt. “Where are we going?”

            “It’s a surprise, Berry,” he said.

            “Is it a good surprise?” she asked. “And when I say ‘good,’ I mean my definition of good which is safe and legal.”

            He threw a handful of sprinkles at her. “No. We’re gonna sneak into Canada and take a dive off Niagara Falls—of _course_ it’s a good surprise. Come on.”

            “We broke into a dog pound to steal _Pomeranians,_ Noah. Forgive me for questioning your standards,” she deadpanned.

            He turned to throw some more sprinkles, but he was met with a spatula of frosting across his forehead instead.

            They blinked at each other. Really—it was only a matter of time before they got to this point. It was a miracle they’d lasted this long. The last time Puck and Rachel had baked anything together, they never even got to measuring the ingredients because they wound up wearing it all before it got to any cups or spoons.

            “You really wanna start this?” Puck asked, picking up a bowl of green frosting. “You _really_ wanna be starting something like _this_?”

            Rachel smirked and picked up the bowl of pink frosting. Of course she was gonna do this. It was a lesson well-learned that whenever they baked and decorated desserts together, there’d always be extra—just in case.

            “Are you sure you can handle this again?” she asked, scooping out a handful. “Remember what happened last time?”

            “ _Last time_ ,” Puck said, testing the weight of the bowl, “you cheated.”

            Her mouth dropped. “How did _I_ cheat?!”

            “You had that defective icing gun that farted icing!”

            “Well, _you_ had both bowls of batter on your side of the kitchen, so I doubt that you have any right to complain about cheating!”

            “You’re right,” he agreed solemnly. “I don’t. Especially now that double-oh-Puck’s got all the advantage.”

            “Excuse you, Mr. Pompous Chauvinist! What hallucinogenic drugs have you been snorting?!”

            “Look at this body! You’re gonna have all this food on you in two seconds fl—”

            _THWAP!_

A handful of pink frosting landed squarely in the middle of his face.

            “You were saying, _double-oh-Puck_?” she asked sweetly, arming herself with another handful.

            Puck didn’t even respond. Years of food fights had trained him to not wipe frosting from his eyes. He just upended the bowl of green frosting right over Rachel’s head. She screamed at banshee levels, but she was as much as a seasoned food warrior as Puck. Mid-scream, she shoved her handful of frosting into his ear, smearing it across his cheek and then all over his neck and shoulder.

            “That, my dear, is going to be a pain to get out,” she laughed, bowl still sitting on her head like a hat.

            Puck shook his head and smiled good-naturedly. “Do unto others—” He wiped the frosting off his face and smeared them into both her ears, “—as you would want others to do unto you.”

            She pulled the bowl off her head, scooped goop off her hair, and stuck it in Puck’s other ear. “Turn the other cheek, sweetheart.”

            He didn’t even see her hand reaching for the star-shaped sprinkles, but next thing he knew, it was in his face.

            “Twinkle-twinkle, little star, Noah.”

            He growled and yanked her close, rubbing the frosting on his face all over hers as she screamed and laughed. Once he was satisfied that they were equally pink in the face, he kissed and sucked the frosting off the tip of her nose and smoothed the frosting through her hair. She went a step further and started smearing it all over his neck and chest, tugging the collar of his shirt down.

            Naturally, anytime Rachel Berry’s hands got anywhere near his nipples, Puck was going to react.

            He bent, hooking his hands behind her knees and smearing them upwards, coating her thighs all the way up to her panty line. Then he picked her up and set her on the counter to better suck the frosting off her lips. But she was in no mood to play the passive party. She licked and sucked the frosting off his neck, making his knees buckle and slam against the cabinets. He lost his balance and landed on his ass, and she landed on top of him again. He expected a nice kiss between his head and the floor, but when none came, he was pleasantly surprised to feel that it was Rachel’s little hand that stopped the blow.

            “Whoopsie,” she said scratching his ‘hawk with her nails. “You okay?”

            “You’re such a pain in my ass, you know that?” he said, rubbing her actual ass and smearing frosting all over her skirt. “Always gotta fall on me.”

            She smiled. “Then you should learn to stop breaking my fall so I learn my lesson.”

            He pulled her sticky hair away from her equally-sticky face. “Nah,” he said with a shrug. “Never.” Then he kissed her.

**~oOo~**

            “Come _on_ ,” Puck said, tugging her out the truck. “It’s gonna be fine. It’s not illegal, it’s not dangerous. It’s _fine_.”

            “But, Noah,” she whined worriedly, looking around. “What about _muggers_?”

            “Rachel, for God’s sake, this is the woods. No one’s gonna be lurking in the woods, waiting for people to get that deep so they can mug ‘em.”

            “What about _serial killers_?!”

            “Rachel! _I_ will be your serial killer if you don’t move that gorgeous ass!”

            She paused. “You think my ass is gorgeous? Really? I mean, it’s nothing like—”

            He huffed, rolled his eyes, heaved her out of his truck, and yanked her up to his chest by her ass, either hand holding either cheek. He pecked her lips. “Your ass is out of this world.”

            She smiled bashfully and kissed him back. “Thank you, Noah. Now come along before it gets any darker.”

            “Baby, if it gets any darker out here, the world will be a black hole. Calm yourself.” He pulled out his new Surefire flashlight and turned it on. _So awesome_. “And look, we’ve got this. No worries.”

            She sighed. “Shiny.”

            “See? Isn’t it a great show?!”

            “You don’t need to sound so triumphant that you turned me into a Browncoat, Noah,” she said as they picked their way through the woods. “I’m a lover of all things Joss Whedon, so _Firefly_ wouldn’t be any different. You’ve only succeeded in adding me to the legion of brokenhearted-but-hopeful fans who harbor a deep hatred for all things Fox but who will also forever await the return of the show or of a sequel to _Serenity_.”

            “Good,” Puck said proudly. “Fox sucks.”

            “I concur. Remember _Dollhouse_? Another Joss Whedon show unfairly cancelled too early.”

            He helped her across the not-quite-so-dense forest, both of them bitching about the unfairly-cancelled shows and underrated movies, until they finally reached it: his tree.

            This was the tree where his mom and dad took him for a picnic when he was five. It was an awesome day ‘cause Dad helped him catch fireflies, and Ma taught him constellations—official ones and the ones she made up herself.

            “Here it is,” he said proudly, beaming the flashlight up and down the huge oak. “Berry, this is my tree.”

            “This is it?” she asked excitedly, letting go of his hand to circle the wide trunk. “This is your mom and dad’s tree?”

            “Yep,” he said proudly. “The only tree whose branches are low enough for a little kid to climb. Come on.” He grabbed her and pushed her to the thickest and lowest bough. “This is why I had you wearing jeans and Chucks.”

            “I can climb by myself, thank you very much,” she said snootily.

            Holding the flashlight between his teeth, Puck made his way up after her, checking her progress and simultaneously checking out her ass. She really had a great ass. She finally stopped and perched herself on the highest and most stable bough, and Puck slid over beside her. He shut off the flashlight and grabbed her hand.

            “Why are we here, Noah?” she asked, shifting around so she straddled the branch and pressed her back against his chest.

            He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. “’Cause when you go to New York and shit, you’re not gonna be able to see any stars. You can barely see ‘em in town already, so I thought you should get a really good view before you go.”

            “And _I’m_ the sappy one?!”

            Puck chortled and pressed his lips to her neck. “We _are_ in a tree, Berry.”

            She laughed and rubbed his arms. “What about you, Noah?”

            “What _about_ me?”

            “Where are you going to college?” she asked.

            She was quiet, and at first, Puck thought it was ‘cause of her romantic view of nature and the “music of its sounds,” but then from the way she asked, he knew it was ‘cause she was afraid of his answer.

            It was the same problem she’d had with Finn. She expected him to come with her to New York, neither of them really aware of what he wanted in his own life, and Puck wasn’t exactly any better. He was still pretty much set in thinking that  he was a badass motherfucker who could croon his way into the beds and panties of every woman he could come across but also a Lima Loser who’d most likely never amount to anything but a musically-inclined bum who fathered god-knows-how-many children.

            So all he said was, “Yeah, I don’t think college is one of my options.”

            “Why not?”

            He sighed and played with her fingers. “’Cause I suck at school. Why am I gonna put myself through four more years of that, you know?”

            “Well, at least in college you can pick the classes you want—that could relate to what you want to do with your life. High school is more of a mish-mash of general knowledge. College is more specialized.”

            “How can I take classes that relate to what I wanna do with my life when I don’t even know what to do with my life?” he countered flatly.

            But Rachel Berry was not to be deterred. “Well, you could take those personality tests that could tell you what occupation you could succeed in. Or you can simply build from something you wanted to be when you were older—a fireman, paramedic, even a-a-a _rancher._ ”

            “I could go into the military.”

            The hands smoothing up and down his arms tightened, digging deep enough so that he could feel it through his jacket. “You… _could._ ”

            “I could…join the police force.”

            She didn’t even laugh, and he kissed her cheek for that. “You could.”

            “Or I could be a bouncer at a club in New York,” he said. “Make my way up the ladder and become the manager and even the owner.”

            “There’s that.”

            “Or…I could work at a bar in New York to pay for some, uh, night classes on business and shit so I could own a bar or work in music production or be some asshole rockstar’s manager or a session guitarist or—mmph!”

            She’d flipped around, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him into silence. He hugged her close as she straddled his legs, nipping his lips and rubbing his ‘hawk.

            “You planned it out, didn’t you?” she said against his lips.

            He shrugged. “Spent a few minutes thinking about it. I think it’s a good idea. Baby steps, right? And I mean, I totally owned a pool business, so I’m pretty savvy in that respect, huh?”

            “Right,” she said, grinning and kissing him again. “Right.”

            “Is that okay?” he asked her, rubbing her thighs. “You think New York City’s big enough for the both of us?”

            She pressed her forehead against his, the brightness of her smile rivaling the moon itself. “They’ll never know what hit ‘em.”


	6. Sunday, December 25, 2011

            Puck needed to start training himself to be a light sleeper ‘cause this was _way_ outta hand. There was yet _another_ penlight taped to the mirror of his bathroom, beaming down on a sweet leather-bound notebook of blank sheet music. No true badass can sleep through someone sneaking around his house like this.

            Hell, no true badass could still be in the dark about who this anonymous creeper was after all this time.

            He and Rachel had tried to narrow the list last night as he drove her back home.

            It couldn’t be her ‘cause she didn’t have the time or the skills to sneak around like that. That coffee stunt had been _unreal_. It couldn’t be Mercedes ‘cause she and Puck didn’t interact enough for her to feel compelled to do anything of this magnitude—same for Joe, Rory, Blaine, and Kurt. Unless one of them harbored some sort of unrequited crush on him. Which Puck did not want to dwell on. It couldn’t be Sam ‘cause, honestly, the dude was poor. No way would he be able to afford all this. It wasn’t Artie ‘cause even though they were homies, Wheel’s couldn’t reach high enough to tape those penlights. Neither could he get up the stairs to Puck’s bathroom. Quinn wouldn’t do it ‘cause she hops and skips back and forth between hating his guts for ruining her life and genuinely liking him for helping her mature and being the obstacle that fostered her worthwhile life experiences or some shit like that. He and Tina have never said a word to each other. Brittany would most likely give him a kitten every day or gift-wrapped _broccoli_ with some indecipherable metaphor. Satan doesn’t have enough of a soul to do something genuinely nice that wasn’t for Brittany. Finn can’t even two-step, let alone creep through Puck’s house like a damn ninja.

            Which left Mike.

            Mike had the skills, the money, the knowledge, and the opportunity to pull all this shit off, but the motive was just all wonky. Like, they were buds since babies, but, like, they were never best friends. They knew certain things about each other, but they weren’t _close_. At least not close enough to warrant _this_.

            So he was back to square one with still no fucking idea who was doing this.

            He was a shame to badasses all over the world.

            Which was why Rachel felt the need to make them a couple minutes late to Santana’s party the next day: she tried to, uh, _cheer him up_ a little on her couch when she saw how dejected he looked. He was cheered up enough when he saw her outfit—a Santa hat, a tight green sweater, an unholy short skirt lined with what looked to be tinsel, deep red tights, and black ankle booties—so when she plopped down on his lap and started kissing a line along his jaw, he was cheery enough to start spreading the Christmas spirit around like a seasoned Christian.

            “Noah, it’s really not that big a deal,” she said, handing him the last batch of cupcakes to load into his truck. “These things are _meant_ to be anonymous. I’m sure your little secret admirer will reveal herself—”           

            “Or himself.”

            “—or _himself_ by the end of Hanukkah,” she finished. “I still don’t understand why you’re so fixated on this person being a male.”

            “What? I’m hot, baby. Even Hummel acknowledged it. If Kurt thinks my ass is tappable, we shouldn’t count out any other gay guy in town—closeted or not, you know?”

            They clambered into his truck, and Puck pulled out of her driveway.

            “I think you’re putting too much focus on the wrong thing,” she said. “I mean, here is a person who is kind-hearted enough to give you these thoughtful presents every day, and you treat him or her with open hostility.”

            “Hey! I wasn’t being hostile! I didn’t even threaten ‘em!”

            “But your tone implies as much.”

            “Not once have I said I was gonna chop off limbs or heads or beat anyone up, Berry. I just don’t like being left in the dark. I’m the resident BAMF. I can’t risk anonymous creepers ‘cause they might be trying to dethrone me.”

            “Noah, you really need to give up this whole BAMF-thing. No one would dare try to challenge your title. No one has enough _time and energy_ to challenge your title.”

            “Damn straight.”

            “But _still_. You should feel grateful and appreciative of the kindness of this person. What would _I_ give for someone who’d put that much attention into gift-giving—and the _penlights_? Really?”

            “You want him? I can leave him a note and tell him to leave you the rest of my presents.”

            “Noah!”

            “What?! It’s _disturbing_ , Rachel! I don’t like not knowing these things! The _President_ himself won’t accept anonymous gifts!”

            “Because he’s the leader of the free country, and there are people who are legitimately trying to assassinate him!”

            “That’s _still_ an applicable reason to me!”

            Rachel groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “No one is trying to assassinate you. You haven’t tossed anyone into any dumpsters, executed any swirlies, hung people on flagpoles, or any other borderline-illegal shenanigans in the last two years.”

            “Yeah, but that don’t mean people let go of their grudges.”

            “You’re being paranoid.”

            “I’m being _cautious_.”

            “Paranoid.”

            “ _Safe_.”

            “Has this secret-Hanukkah…person left you anything dangerous yet?”

            “Well, no, but for all we know, these presents could’ve been laced with some sort of poison or radiation or something that takes some time to really take effect.”

            “No offense, but I _really_ doubt anyone would go through that much effort to murder you. I’d personally just poison your lunch or smuggle a gun and be done with it.”

            Puck nearly got in a car accident. “Have you thought about something like this?!”

            “I’ve seen movies and TV shows!”

            “Still! You’re creeping me out now! Are you _sure_ you’re not my creeper?”

            “Noah.”

            “Rachel.”

            _“Noah.”_

“Can’t you just tell me who it is?” he finally begged. “I _know_ you know by now. It’s only one of the gleeks.”

            “Noah, I can’t tell you because _I don’t know_.”

            “Come on, baby!”

            “I don’t know!”

            “Rachel, honey, baby, sweetheart, please!”

            “Noah, dear, sweetcheeks, boo, _I don’t know who it is_!”

            “Is it all of y’all banning together?”

            “Honestly, Noah.”

            “You pitched your money together and bought me these presents and shit, didn’t you?”

            “No.”

            “Admit it.”

            “Nothing to admit.”

            “Rach—”

            “If you keep nagging me about this, Noah, I swear to Barbra that I will withhold all cookies and kisses.”

            He dropped the subject.

**~oOo~**

            Finn, Sam, Artie, Mike, and Rory were already up on the stage in Santana’s gigantic living room, singing some boy-band version of “Jingle Bell Rock.”

            “Ey! _Cabrón_! _Enano_! Y’all are late!”

            “Stop calling us names and come help us, Santana,” Rachel said, handing her a huge plate of Christmas-tree shaped cookies.

            “The hell?” Santana demanded, steadying the heavy plate. “You trying to feed a couple third-world countries with this?”

            Rachel pulled another plate out the back of Puck’s truck. “Eat one.”

            Santana ate a cookie. Her eyes widened and she stuffed the rest of it in her mouth.

            Rachel shoved another plate into her arms and then nudged her back into the house and toward the buffet table. “Did you invite boys?”

            “Duh,” Santana said, a few crumbs spraying out.

            “Therein lies your answer to why Noah and I are about to cover every spare surface of your house with these,” Rachel concluded, bringing in her own giant armload of goodies.

            Puck smirked and bumped Santana’s shoulder as he brought in the cupcakes. “Fifty bucks says this is all gone before the end of the night.”

            She sneered at him. “You’re on, _pendejo._ ”

            “Santana?!” Rachel shrieked.

            Santana rolled her eyes and pushed her way through the people to get to where Rachel was gawping out the window. “What?!”

            Puck came up behind Rachel and grimaced. “The hell?”

            “Why is Blaine swinging from a bungee cord on your tree?” Rachel asked calmly.

            Santana shrugged. “’Cause he wanted to.”

            Rachel turned and leveled Santana with the most disbelieving look Puck had ever seen her make. “And you let him?!”

            “I’m pretty sure that’s breaking a few fire codes,” Puck said.

            “Four, actually,” Kurt sighed, coming up behind them. “But since this is a private residence and it’s attached to a _tree_ over a _lake_ , it doesn’t qualify.”

            “Who’s brilliant idea was this?” Rachel asked.

            “Artie’s,” Mercedes said. “This is his first _real_ high school party, so he asked Blaine if he could live vicariously through him.”

            “So now Blaine feels morally obligated to pull as many drunk-teenager-type stunts for Artie,” Kurt finished tiredly.

            Puck chortled and shook his head. “Yippee-ki-yay, Warbler.”

            “There’s a pool going on,” Mercedes said. “Twenty bucks says he’ll hit the tree trunk, thirty says he’ll swing into that cold-ass lake, and forty says he’ll stick the landing.”

            “What are the odds?” Puck asked at the same time Rachel asked, “He’s not _actually_ drunk, is he?”

            “Right now, he’s pretty much an _actual_ gremlin. He drank about three cans of Mountain Dew and cleared through three pieces of cake. He was jumping on my furniture before Artie recruited him,” Santana said. “Odds are he’s too cold and hopped up on sugar to let go of that cord, so he’ll hit the tree before anything else.”

            “Wait—wait, what is he—is he climbing the rope?” Puck asked, peering harder through the window. “What are the bets on _that_?”

            “Depends on what he does from that point,” Santana answered.

            “He’s going to aim for the hot tub,” Brittany said, appearing from out of nowhere. “Blaine’s channeling his inner gymnast. I told him to just let go and let the air carry him.”

            “Brittany, the hot tub is twenty feet from that tree!” Kurt cried.

            “Well, I just told him to let the air carry him,” Brittany said. “I didn’t tell him to expect it to carry him all the way to the hot tub.”

            Kurt zoomed out the back door, screeching, “BLAINE, NO!”

            _“—the jingle bell, that’s the jingle bell, that’s the jingle bell roo-ooock!”_

“Finally!” Santana sighed in relief. “My ears are about to fall off. Someone should give Finn laryngitis…or just rip out his throat.”

            “You’ve got the claws,” Puck said. “You go do it.”

            “Come on, smartass,” Mercedes said suddenly, grinning mischievously and grabbing Puck by the lapels. “We’re gonna show those idiots how to really rock a Christmas song.”

            “Wha—I didn’t— _Rachel!_ ”

            But his unofficial girlfriend just waggled her fingers at him. “Who am I to deny a fellow diva her backup? Have fun, Noah.”

            “Move your pasty asses,” Mercedes barked, herding the boys off the stage before they could launch into another song. “Puckerman, you know the song, don’t you?”

            Puck trailed after her and nervously picked up the guitar. “Uh, no?”

            She snorted, grabbing a mic. “Yes, you do.”

            “No, I really fucking don—”

            She snapped at the band (that Santana somehow harangued into coming and then playing) and launched right into it with no warning: _“I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need.”_

Oh, Jesus.

            The crowd of McKinley students—Cheerio, jock, and unknown passerby alike—started whooping and cheering.

            Puck just sighed and walked up to the other mic stand as helmet-hair gave him the key. Here we fucking go with the Christmas songs again. He was such a bad Jew. He should go eat some bacon after this. At least he had the most Jew-ppropriate verse in the song: _“I don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree.”_

Rachel whooped loudly from where she still stood near the window beside Santana and Brittany.

            _“I just want you for my own,”_ Mercedes sang.

            They were just gonna wing this then. _”More than you could ever know.”_

 _“Make my wish come truu-uue,”_ Mercedes crooned before Puck joined in. _“All I want for Christmaaas is you-uu.”_

**~oOo~**

            He should’ve known.

            He should’ve figured it out especially after “Sweet Caroline.”

            Rachel Berry didn’t get turned on by porn or some shit like that—no. She got turned on when you fucking serenaded her. Granted he was saying all he wanted for a non-Jewish holiday was her, so it didn’t really count as much for them, but it’s not like he could change the lyrics to, “All I want for Hanukkah is you.” The syllables didn’t work. Whatever.

            For the rest of that party, she was glued to his side, her hand stuck in his back pocket or her finger hooked around the loop on his jeans. And Finn was just shooting him these looks that the giant idiot must’ve thought to be intimidating but only served to make him look like a combination of being constipated and on the verge of tears. It’s not like Finn didn’t see them at the homeless shelter or during the snow day. It was just that he didn’t start reacting to them until right then. Which was just…stupid.

            But then again. It’s _Finn_.

            As if aware of the glares, Rachel actively helped in steering the both of them as far away from Finn as possible, but finally, Hudson discovered his own balls and approached Puck.

            “Hey, dude, can I talk to you?”

            “You _can_ ,” Puck answered.

            Finn frowned.

            Puck blinked.

            Finn cocked his head to the side.

            “Forget it,” Puck sighed. Finn checked out after the phonics lessons; he couldn’t be trusted with grammar. Puck dropped his arm from around Rachel’s shoulder and patted Finn’s back. “Come on, buddy.”

            Finn led him out the back where Blaine’s bungee cord was still gently swaying in the cold night air.

            “Listen, dude, I’m not gonna tell you it’s screwed up that you’re dating my girlfriend again—”          
            Puck’s eye twitched. “Ex-girlfriend, Finn.”

            “Uh, yeah. Right. Well, whatever. I’m not, like, holding this against you or something. I just want you to know that,” Finn said uncomfortably.

            Well, _yeah_ , he _shouldn’t_ considering Rachel had _technically_ been Puck’s first. October, sophomore year, bitches. Don’t think he forgot that week where he’d been introduced to the holy land that was Rachel’s body—gloria in excelsis Deo, in _deed_.

            “What are you trying to get at, dude?” Puck finally asked, trying to put the both of them out of their misery.

            Finn sighed, took a step closer, and for just a second, Puck _genuinely_ thought Finn was his creeper and was about to spill the beans—complete with _I-really-care-about-you_ ’s and _I’m-not-asking-for-anything-I-just-wanted-you-to-know_ ’s.

            So when Finn put his hands on Puck’s shoulders, Puck nearly abandoned his badassness and ran screaming. No way was he subjecting himself to this.

            But then Finn just said: “I’m just saying…take care of her, all right?”

            Puck tried not to sigh in relief too loudly. “Of course.”

            Finn swallowed and started looking even _more_ uncomfortable. “Just… She wants to be treated like-like a queen but not this fragile little girl, you know? I didn’t really get to figure out the difference, but you can see it on her face someti—”

            Puck rolled his eyes. “I know.”

            “Wait, what? You know?”

            Puck snorted. Typical Rachel. “Yeah. I know. She wants you to open doors for her, but she doesn’t want you take things out of her hands and, like, _shield_ her and shit. You get what I’m saying?”

            “No.”

            Of course not.

            “I appreciate it when you watch my back during Call of Duty, but if you start jumping in front of me and stealing my kills, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

            The blank and confused look on Finn’s face brightened into understanding. “ _Oh_! Now I get it. That makes sense.” Then he frowned down at Puck again. “How did you know that about her?”

            Puck shrugged. “I paid attention, dude.”

            “Oh.”

            “Yeah. Can I go back in now? Berry’s got my jacket, and it’s still fucking cold out here.”

            “Oh, yeah, sure. You can have my jacket if you want.”

            “ _NO!_ No, Finn. Uh, thanks, buddy, but just…no. M’gonna go back inside now.”

            “Okay.”

            Jesus Christ.

            What totally made up for that awkward-as-fuck-and-should-be-erased-from-his-brain experience was when Puck walked back inside and Rachel threw one arm around his waist, slid her hand back into his pocket, squeezed his buttcheek, smiled up at him, and said, “Noah, will you take me home now?”

**~oOo~**

            For a chick who weighed, like, fifteen pounds, she slammed him against her living room wall pretty hard. He didn’t mind in the least—especially when she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. Balancing herself against his hips, she yanked off the green sweater, revealing a lacy green camisole. Then she snaked her arms around his neck, scraping her nails through his ‘hawk. His head swam and banged back against the wall as he licked and sucked on her lips.

            He wrapped one arm around her waist to hold her up and reached up her skirt to trace the skin right above the waistline of her leggings.

            “Noah, Noah—OFF!” she gasped. “Take it _off_.”

            He grinned and started walking up the stairs. Ain’t no way he was doing this on her couch or on the living room floor. That was such horseshit. Rachel Berry deserved better than that.

            They banged into the walls enough times so that they’d wake up tomorrow thinking that they’d broken down a few doors with their shoulders, but at that moment, the bangs weren’t hard enough to elicit any sort of reaction. Puck finally stumbled into her room and gently bent at the waist to lay her on the edge of her bed. He kissed her lips one more time before trailing kisses down her cheek, neck, and across her collarbone before dipping in between her breasts and leaving sucking kisses that had her arching off the bed and tightening her legs around his waist.

            “ _Noah_ ,” she breathed, combing her fingers through his strip of hair and tugging.

            “Shhh,” he hissed against her skin, his hands moving down from her back to cradle her hips.

            She grabbed a chunk of his hair, lifting his head to meet her eyes. “Don’t shush me.”

            He grinned and leaned forward to kiss her lips before moving back down. He peeled up her camisole and kissed patterns up and down and across the skin of her stomach. His head rose and fell with the deep, uneven breaths she was taking as he kissed around her bellybutton and sucked on the skin right below it.

            “Noah! For God’s sake,” she moaned. “What are you _doing_?”

            He laughed, teeth nipping her skin. The chuckles immediately turned to growls when she used her legs to drag herself right up to his hips and grind against the bulge in his pants. “Jesus, Berry.”

            “I don’t think that’s His last name.”

            He shut her up by kissing her again, tongue tracing the inside of her bottom lip and running along her own. Still exploring her delicious mouth, Puck reached behind him to unlock her ankles and lay them down in front of him. He rubbed those smooth, ridiculously unreal legs, and reached upward to drag the waistband all the way down and off, never dislodging his lips from hers.

            He wouldn’t have se— _make love_. He wouldn’t make love to her tonight. Nah. He respected her and he respected the morals they were both raised with to hold off for her sake. But god _damn_ if he wasn’t gonna just let her see the edge.

            When he finally threw those godforsaken tights over his shoulder and resumed the pathway back up her smooth thighs, he nearly had a coronary.

            “Jesus, Berry,” he moaned. He clamped his hands safely on her knees to calm down. “Seriously? _Nothing_? All night?!”

            She grinned and stroked the sides of his face. “Merry Christmas and happy Hanukkah, Noah.”

            He dropped his head to kiss her stomach again, gently. Then he ran his hands up the backs of her legs, smoothing the invisible line between thighs and gorgeous ass before kneading his thumbs into the joints of her hips. She squirmed under him, and he found that he really, _really_ enjoyed the feeling of her hips’ movements. He would never again be able to see her dance in the same way again.

            Then he paused and stared at her for a few seconds.

            “What?” she asked.

            “Berry, it’s you and me, okay?”

            She smiled. “Of course.”

            He smiled back and leaned forward to kiss her gently, slowly—hopefully like how she’d imagine some prince charming to do it. But then when she slipped her tongue between his lips, he remembered this was Rachel Fucking Berry, ladies and gentlemen. If she wanted prince charming, she’d go get someone else. She wanted Noah Puckerman.

            So he hauled her up, pulling her higher up the bed so she was lying back against her pillows, and it was the most bizarrely hot thing he’d seen in a long fucking time. Because sexy Rachel Berry with no panties and a tinsel-lined skirt giving him bedroom eyes as she lay back against her favorite stuffed animals and embroidered pillows?

            _Damn_.

            Then he laid between her legs, propped up on his elbows, and pressed his lips to the inside of her thighs. He’d take this one step at a time. Still kissing her sweet, soft skin, he reached up and traced the lips of her pussy with his index finger. She squeaked and nearly smacked him in shock. He just snickered against her skin and pressed just a bit harder with his finger until her legs started quaking. He waited until she stopped staring up at her ceiling and made eye contact before he slipped a finger inside her folds. She let out a mix of a scream and a gasp and nearly yanked out a chunk of his hair.

            He shifted so he was kissing and nibbling her other thigh as he started to pump his finger in and out. A few seconds later, she was trembling from head to toe and biting her bottom lip between groans that he could feel all the way through his dick. He added another finger and slid them in and out a few more times before deciding he wasn’t gonna torture her. Not tonight, at least. It was still Christmas, after all.

            He curled his fingers up, and she let out a note higher than that one in the “Halo” and “Walking on Sunshine” mash-up ‘cause right at that moment, he was pretty sure she was seeing a hell of a lot more light behind her eyelids than just sunshine and haloes.


	7. Monday, December 26, 2011

            This whole sleeping-over thing was gonna get real dicey once the Fathers Berry get back, but until then, Puck was gonna take advantage of the opportunity. Unfortunately, that plan got derailed thanks to Victor Barracho—yes, that was his last name. Apparently, Victor got drunk the night before and punched his brother-in-law for using the menorah light to light a different candle since they had a blackout. They wound up taking the fight through the glass sliding doors and into the pool where the two men nearly drowned and wound up with twin concussions for Hanukkah. So because they were both in the hospital with varying degrees of some sort of amnesia, Victor’s wife Adelaide now had to bring him home and get him situated. However, she did not want her son in the vicinity in fear of traumatizing the poor child with his amnesiac father. So until Mom and Dad could come up with a viable cover story for why Daddy was having problems remembering to blow his nose and not his ear, five-year old Abraham was going to have to stay with someone else.

            That someone else happened to be Rachel Berry, who was not his regular baby sitter but still happened to be the love of his five-year old life.

            Puck just gawped at Rachel when she hung up the phone and told him that Abraham was about to be dropped off at her house.

            “You know that kid has the makings of becoming Jewfro two-point-oh, you know that, right?”

            “Noah!”

            “What?!”

            “For one thing, Abraham is adorable and does not have Jacob’s…”

            “Pubic hair ‘fro?”

            “Noah! For the love of God!”

            “What?! You can’t deny it! It’s either pubic hair growing from the wrong end or he uses bleach and Raid to shampoo and condition.”

            “Well, Abraham does not have mutated or chemically destroyed hair,” Rachel said. “He’s a perfectly normal five-year old little boy with a crush. Honestly, he reminds me more of you than Jacob.”

            “Take that back now.”

            “No. As I recall, it was _you_ who was chasing around our day care counselor, Naomi.”

            “She’s still a babe these days—definitely a MILF,” Puck said with a smirk. That earned him a slap to the arm. “Ow! Definitely nothing compared to you though, baby—you don’t gotta worry about that. Come on. But what about _you_? When we were five, Jacob was the one who made it his life goal to kiss _some_ part of your leg.”

            Rachel paled. “I did not know that. I thought he was just obsessed with my socks. Oh, God, that is _so_ gross.”

            “Yeah, so can we please try to find someone else to take care of Abraham?”

            “No, no, no,” Rachel insisted. “If Abraham is starting to have Jacob Ben-Israel-like tendencies, we have to try and sway him away from that. Don’t you understand? _We can’t have another Jacob, Noah._ If you or I treat him anything like Jacob, we’ll only foster that same kind of personality.”

            “So what are you saying? We…?”

            “Treat him kindly. We try to be his friend and encourage him to be… _not_ creepy.”

            “And how in the fuck do you propose we do that without getting molested by a five-year old?”

            She shot him a dirty look before going to the fridge and pulling out some apple slices. “We…take him out to the park, play with him the way we never could with Jacob—”

            “Because he’d only run after you instead of the ball.”

            “—then we will try to find some other activity Abraham can enjoy that doesn’t involve anything overly creepy,” she finished through her teeth.

            “How about anything creepy in general? ‘Cause ‘overly creepy’ leaves a lot of open space,” Puck said.

            She shot him another look before sighing and arranging a few slices on a plate. “He’ll be here any second, so I need you to…mentally prepare yourself, okay?”

            Puck scrubbed his face. “You know what’d help me prepare myself for dealing with baby Jewfro? Booze.”

            “No, no booze for either of us.”

            “Kisses then. I need kisses.”

            Rachel grinned and shook her head. “Of course.”

But no amount of kisses was gonna help him get through this.

            “Hi, Rachel.”

            “Hi, Abraham.”

            “That’s the third time you said that, kid. If you wanna impress her, you gotta say something else,” Puck said, ruffling the kids very _un_ -curly hair instead of picking up the kid and give him a good shake, which is what he really wanted to do.

            Abraham just blinked up at Puck and took another bite of an apple slice before turning back to Rachel. “Hi, Rachel.”

            “How are the apples?” Rachel asked, trying to change the subject.

            Both Puck and Rachel waited for Abraham to answer or at least _shrug_.

            “Hi, Rachel.”

            The look Puck shot his unofficial girlfriend made her smack his shoulder again.

            “The park! Park! How about we go to the park?! Is that okay? Lots of things to do at the park—swings, slides, mulch, grass, air, whatever! Let’s go to the park!” Rachel snapped, grabbing her coat and hauling ass out of her own kitchen.

            “Okay, Rachel,” Abraham said, hopping off the barstool and running after her.

            Puck just closed his eyes.

            This was not how he pictured his day going. What he had in mind involved a lot of bare skin, chocolate, and maybe some cuddling. A kid with a three-word vocabulary fit nowhere in that plan.

**~oOo~**

            The upside of the car ride: present #7, which was a free dinner at Breadstix. Yay.

            The downside of the car ride: this kid did not want to go anywhere.

            The park was a bust.

            The local Chuck E. Cheese was a bust.

            The goddamn _street_ was a bust.

            All this kid wanted to do was ogle Rachel. At least Jacob Ben-Israel could throw out feeble insults and painful declarations of love, but this kid was just… _starstruck_.

            “Abe, bud, you gotta pick some place to go. Rachel’s gonna kill me with how much I’m screwing up the environment just driving around like this, _right_ , Rachel?”

            “Yes. Noah’s carbon footprint rivals Sasquatch’s at this point, and he’s still got about seventy more years to go. I really can’t condone driving much more,” she said sagely.

            Puck ground his teeth and suddenly turned right. “I know where we’re going.”

            “Noah, where are we going?”

            “We’re gonna teach Abe here the perfect way to pick up chicks.”

            “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

            “I think it’s a brilliant idea,” Puck said brightly. “You wanna learn how to impress girls, Abe? I’m gonna teach you how to impress girls.”

            “Noah, this isn’t going to be dangerous, is it?”

            “Just as dangerous as driving in this truck,” Puck answered. “You up for it, Abe?”

            He glanced down just in time to see Abraham grimace just a _little_.

            Progress.

            He pulled into the local skate park and parked near a sidewalk cushioned by patches of grass on either side.

            “Noah…”

            “Would you rather we drive around for the next eight hours?”

            “Where’s your skateboard?”

            Puck grinned. “In the bed.”

            “What are we doing?” Abraham asked.

            “HE SPEAKS! I’m gonna teach you how to skateboard, Abe. Well—as much as I can since you’re still pint-sized and all.”

            “PUCK!”

            Oh, for God’s sake.

            “Is one day all you two are gonna give me?” Puck groaned as he hopped out of the cab and helped Rachel down. “Seriously? Like, is that my Hanukkah present from y’all? One day away from you two dimwits?”

            “You missed us and you know it,” Mike said, throwing an arm around Rachel as Sam came up on her other side and did the same thing.

            Abraham hopped down and brushed off his pants before coming to stand in front of Rachel.

            “Who’s this?” Sam asked, bending down until he was eye-level with the five year-old. “Hi, I’m Sam. What’s your name?”

            When there was no answer, Puck rolled his eyes. “Fun Size over here is Abraham. Rachel has to watch him for the day. I’m gonna teach him how to skateboard a little.”

            “Sweet!” Mike cheered, patting Abraham on the head and leading him onto the grass. “Right here is when the Puckster and I figured out how to skateboard. If you look closely, you can see the bloodstains and everything.”

            “Michael!”

            “But you two aren’t the only ones who brought a little friend,” Sam said, grinning and bouncing on his feet.

            Rachel frowned. “You brought…your brother and sister?”

            Sam shook his head. “Nope. Look over there near the half-pipe.”

            And sure enough, there was Kurt and Blaine, the former with a tight grip on the back of the latter’s jacket as the ex-Warbler tried to find his balance on a skateboard.

            “But…why?” Rachel asked worriedly.

            “’Cause apparently, Artie’s request sparked some sort of new life view in Blaine,” Mike said. “He wants to do one thing that scares him every day.”

            Rachel grimaced. “And…skateboarding is scary for Blaine?”

            “Apparently. He finally managed to get both feet on the board five minutes ago,” Sam said.            

            “See? You can learn with our friend Blaine over there,” Puck said, patting Abraham on the shoulder. “He’s a pipsqueak too, so you’ll pretty much be on the same level.”

            Abraham suddenly shot out latched himself to Rachel’s side. “I-I-I don’t wanna.”

            Look at that. Three more words. Leaps and bounds, bitches.

            “You don’t have to be afraid of anything,” Puck said, kneeling in front of the kid. “I’m gonna have a hold on you so don’t ever fall, okay?”

            “Can Rachel hold me?”

            “Rachel’s feeble, bud. And you can’t impress her if she’s the one taking care of you, right?” He was about to say that all Rachel could do was let him fall and then kiss his boo-boo’s, but all things considered, Puck figured that wasn’t the best thing to say _at all._

            Abraham glanced up at Rachel. “Is this a good idea?”

            Rachel bent down beside Puck. “Noah will make sure you’re absolutely safe.”

            The kid scowled and then sighed. “Okay, I guess.”

            “BLAINE! Blaine, this isn’t surfing! You cannot hang ten!” Mike hollered. “Good God, for someone who’s allegedly afraid of skateboarding, you are _daring_!”

            “He tried to slalom and landed on his butt so hard that he bounced,” Sam said, sounding impressed.

            Needless to say, Abraham made much better progress than Blaine. Sure, the taller hobbit had could make better speed, but that usually ended in crash landings and metal-post kissing that had Kurt more furious than sympathetic. Abe, on the other hand, got two feet on the board and started having the time of his life.

            “Blaine, I swear to God, you better get over this little kick real soon,” Kurt growled as he helped Blaine up from the grass.

            “Kurt, this is important,” Blaine said breathlessly, still grinning. “Countless other people do this—something dangerous a day—in order to live a fulfilling and fearless life, you know? _Courage_ , Kurt. Courage. And honestly, I’m done living in fear of things. If I can come out and say that I love you with all of my heart, I can ride this skateboard. So I will.”

            Rachel grinned so wide it squeezed some tears out her eyes as she clasped her hands together and leaned back against Puck’s chest. Even Puck was smiling.

            “Can you teach me how to do a flip like that?”

            “NO!” Puck, Rachel, and Sam chorused in perfect horrified, glee harmony.

            “No, bud,” Puck said, hefting Abraham up under his arms and setting him on top of the skateboard again. “You may as well skip the whole learning process and just ask me to drop you on your head. Less time and preamble.”

            “What?”

            “No flipping.”

            “I should make that a goal,” Blaine said. “Flip the board at least once.”

            Kurt looked like he wholeheartedly wanted to slap someone.

            “Flip the board and land on it or flip the board and land your back or your butt?” Mike asked. “’Cause I’m pretty sure you came close to doing the second one couple minutes ago.”

            “Blaine, sweetheart, if you purposely flip the board and land on your buttocks, I will personally kick it,” Kurt said sweetly. “And these boots look painful, don’t they?”

            “Kurt, come on, let’s get something hot to drink,” Rachel said, shooting Puck an amused smile and towing Kurt away. “Noah, Abe, would you like something?”

            “Hot chocolate,” was the simultaneous answer.

            Puck and Abraham glanced at each other, Puck glaring and Abraham grinning. “Jinx, you owe me a soda.”

            Puck scoffed. “I don’t owe you _jack_ , kid. I’m the one giving you skateboarding lessons.”

            Abraham shrugged and pushed himself forward, Puck still holding onto him. “You still owe me a soda. Can’t break the rules.”

            “The rules were made to be broken, kid.”

            “I’m so gonna tell Rachel you said that.”

            “You do that, but I still ain’t getting you a soda.”

            “Why not?”

            “’Cause she won’t let me.”

            “What?!”

            “Kid, Rachel hates sodas ‘cause they ruin your teeth inside and out. You mention anything about wanting sodas near her, she’s gonna go off on a rant so long you’re gonna wanna tear your own ears off. All you need to know is that stuff can clean toilet bowls and make eggshells mushy.”

            “But you drink it, don’t you?”

            “I’m a Puckerman. I’m practically indestructible.”

            “Nuh-uh.”

            “Yeah-huh. Chang—tell Bite Size about the pitbull.”

            Mike winced. “Let’s not traumatize kids before five in the afternoon, Puck.”

            “I wanna hear about the pitbull!”

**~oOo~**

            “I can’t eat.”

            “Why not?!”

            “’Cause Mike told me about the pitbull.”

            Puck had to put his fist against his mouth before he sprayed the table with spaghetti. Rachel just glowered at him.

            “I can’t believe you had Mike tell him about that horrible experience, Noah,” she growled and then turned to Abraham and gripped his hand. “It’s fine, Abe. Half of that ridiculous story was exaggerations. Eat your mac and cheese. We’ve had a long day.”

            Abraham frowned and picked up his fork. “So the bloody teeth was an-an-an ex-exa-exar—”

            Rachel whipped her head around to Puck and slammed her foot on his so hard he nearly cracked a tooth with how hard his mouth slammed shut. “Yes,” she said to Abraham flatly even though she was still trying to roast Puck with her eyes “Yes, that was just typical teenage exaggerations. He made it up.”

            The five-year old took a deep, relaxing breath and took a bite of his dinner. Rachel finally turned away and smoothed Abraham’s hair. He smiled and leaned into her hand adoringly. Puck mimed throwing up, but instead, he just nudged the kid’s knee with his shoe and stuck his tongue out.

            Abraham grinned and kept eating.

            “Excuse me, boys,” Rachel said, standing up and setting her napkin on the table. “I have to use the restroom.”

            Puck nodded, and she walked off, brushing her fingers through his hair as she passed.

            “Hey, kid, don’t forget your broccoli,” Puck reminded him.

            Just ‘cause it was a free meal did _not_ mean he was gonna let things go to waste. He went through this whole vegetable process—he was a seasoned veteran.

            “I didn’t,” Abraham said.

            “Okay, good. Then eat some of it. It’s feeling neglected.”

            “I didn’t forget it. I just don’t want it.”

            “Well, now that’s just frickin’ mean, Abe. What’d the broccoli ever do to you?”

            “It went on my plate.”

            “That’s like saying you hate someone ‘cause they live next to you. So messed up, man.”

            “It’s gross.”

            “Is it slimy?”

            “No.”

            “Is it sour?”

            “No.”

            “Is it spicy?”

            “No.”

            “Is it gross and sweet?”

            “No.”

            “So what’s wrong with it?”

            “I just don’t like it.”

            “So _mean_ , dude. _So mean_. That’s saying you don’t like that one guy ‘cause he’s blonde. Or you don’t like Rachel ‘cause she’s a girl.”

            “But—”

            “Or you hate your mom ‘cause she likes chocolate or your dad ‘cause he likes drinking water,” Puck persisted relentlessly. “Or you hate cheese ‘cause it’s yellow or think the sky is disgusting ‘cause it’s blue.”

            “But I just don’t _want_ it, Puck!”

            “Is it gonna kill you?”

            “Yes.”

            “I’ll bet you twenty dollars it’s gonna kill you.”

            “What?”

            “You put that in your mouth, and if it kills you, I’ll you twenty dollars. Go ahead.”

            “But I’ll be dead.”

            “But if you’re not, you gotta finish all of that.”

            “All of it?

            “If you eat one, you can’t ignore the rest of them. That’s just rude, bud.”

            Abraham shot Puck such a dirty look it was almost hysterical. “Fine,” he grumbled, spearing a stalk with his fork, scowling, and then chomping down.

            “Are you dead yet?”

            “No,” Abraham said between chews.

            “Finish all of them then please,” Puck said with a victorious smirk.

            Rachel slipped back into her seat and spread her napkin on her lap again. “What’d I miss?”

            “Nothing,” Puck said, shrugging and popping a meatball into his mouth. “Look. Little man’s eating his veggies.”

            “Good job!” Rachel said, squeezing Abraham’s shoulder proudly and dropping a kiss on his forehead. “I’m so proud of you!”

            Abraham blushed and sat up straighter in his seat. “I’m gonna finish all of it, Rachel.”

            “I’m sure you will.” Rachel smiled and went back to her food.

            “I have to commend you,” an elderly woman said from a nearby table.

            Puck and Rachel looked up.

            “Excuse me?” Rachel asked.

            “My husband and I couldn’t take our children anywhere— _especially_ a restaurant,” the lady said.

            Puck paled.

            “Oh, uh, no, no,” Rachel said. “This—we’re babysitting.”

            “This one is not ours,” Puck said flatly. “No. Just no.”

            The woman’s eyes looked fairly shocked, but then she smiled, pleased. “Well, good to know the next generation’s gonna be in good hands.”

            “Thank you,” Rachel said. ‘Cause honestly, what else was there to say?

            Rachel turned back to the table with a small smile, and Puck caught her eye. He winked. “Besides, _our kid_ would totally have a Mohawk.” 


	8. Tuesday, December 27, 2011

            When Rachel got the call a week before Hanukkah, there was no preamble or pleasantries, so she knew this was going to be all business. Recruited to summon the rest of the gleeks, she immediately prepped her living room with pens and notepads, a rolling white board, markers, and enough food to keep the boys’ holiday hunger at bay. Less than half an hour later, the gleeks and their new temporary ringleader (sans Puck, of course) were assembled in various positions of interest, boredom, frustration, and confusion in Rachel’s living room.

            “Okay, now that we’re all here, do you mind telling us _why_?” Santana jumped right in impatiently.

            “It’s ‘cause of Puck,” Sam said. “He’s been totally neglected by the club and stuff, so we gotta do something nice for him.”

            “Yeah, Mike agreed, snatching the plate of cookies away from a reaching Kurt. “You guys saw what leaving him alone does. He started having that weird affair with Shelby. Puck’s probably the last person to be left to his own devices.”

            “Okay, that’s not the specific reason I had in mind, but if that works for y’all, okay,” the Mastermind said, rapping the whiteboard to get their attention back from the group-gagging session the idea of Puck and Shelby brought on.

            “So what _do_ you have in mind?” Quinn asked. “We can’t exactly give him a coupon for hookers and dip.” The furious glare Quinn received for that disparaging comment had her cringing back into the cushions of Rachel’s couch. “Sorry.”

            “I already have his Hanukkah presents bought, so I don’t need anyone’s input on that matter,” the Mastermind said coolly. A black marker was uncapped and gliding across the whiteboard. “This brings me to what we’re gonna do on the first day.”

            “So you have all of his presents already?” Rachel asked, impressed.

            “I told you—I already planned this all out. I just need you guys to execute it.”

            “Why go through this whole process?” Blaine asked. “Can’t you just give it to him yourself?”

            “Of course not. That’s no fun. I have to distance myself from this entire operation. Puck hates secret admirers and Secret Santa’s or secret-anything unless he’s on the hidden end. He hates being in the dark. The less involved I am, the more effective this plan will be.”

            “So what? You’re gonna balance out your apparent kindheartedness with evil?” Kurt asked.

            “Yes.”

            “Oh, I _really_ like you,” Santana cooed with a devilish smile.

            “So the first day of Hanukkah this year is a Tuesday,” Rachel said, her pen poised above her notepad. “What’s on the menu?”

            “Hanukkah is the Festival of Lights, so the running theme will be light. For every present, there’ll be a penlight shining down on it. So on the first day, Rachel will set that up on Puck’s locker, and Sam and Mike will make sure no nimrod will try to steal it. You two spend more time with him these days, so it won’t be so suspicious if you’re hanging around near his locker. As soon as he gets his present, Rachel will come over and play the lonely Jew to get him to go out to the movies and use this free movie ticket.”

            Rachel nearly dropped her pen. “Wait a minute, what? Am I bait?”

            “No, you’re the one who’s got a giant crush on him, so we’re gonna kill two birds with one stone since he’s had the hots for you since…conception.”

            “S’true,” Artie agreed, nodding.

            Mercedes shrugged. “Girl, you ain’t foolin’ no one but yourself.”

            “And apparently Puck too, since he’s still clueless,” Kurt added, glaring at Mike who held the plate out of Kurt’s reach.

            “So what about the next day?” Santana asked.

            “That’s where _all of you_ have to come into play. Puck’s go-to sleep aid is hot cocoa with peppermint. Now, I’ve been tinkering around with coffee, and I’ve finally managed to master a blend that has both coffee and peppermint in it without needing any creamer or something. The combination of caffeine and cocoa-peppermint will drive him up the wall. You’re going to tape this tumbler to his locker so he thinks his Hanukkah present for the day is just this: some coffee.”

            “So why do you have eight identical tumblers?” Finn asked, eyeing the fold-out table where the presents were all laid out.

            “What’s gonna happen is that every time Puck turns around or takes his eyes off the tumbler, one of you guys is gonna switch it out with a fresh, _full_ cup. He’s gonna think he’s either going insane or in an episode of _Supernatural_. This will wind up being more for your benefit than mine since y’all are gonna have a front row seat to the meltdown. Y’all take turns with this video camera since you’re not always in the same class as him to do this; I wanna see his reactions.”

            “That’s so mean,” Rachel said worriedly.

            “But it’s gonna have him swearing off coffee for life, which is good ‘cause he drinks way too much of the stuff these days. I think it’s nonverbal stress, having Beth around and Shelby and just senior year in general, you know?”

            Rachel nodded in agreement. “Okay, And then after that?”

            “After that will be Thursday, the day of the Glee Holiday Spectacular, right?”

            Artie nodded. “It’s gonna be off the chain.”

            “I’m sure it’ll be…great. Since school will be over for break, I’ll be the one to plant his presents at the house from then on. For that day, I have this Mohawk hat. It’s just a hat, but that’s the day we need to pick things up. When you get to the homeless shelter—”

            “Oh! The homeless shelter! We forgot!” Rachel shrieked, horrified.

            “It’s cool. Puck remembered. He’s making me Kurt, and Brittany help him drive the rest of you to the shelter as soon as we’re done filming,” Finn said proudly.

            “Well, when you get to the shelter, Brittany, I want you to find the biggest clump of mistletoe you can. Heck, just bring your own if you want to. I want you running around and getting everyone to kiss each other. Rachel, pay attention ‘cause you’re gonna stay very near Puck.”

            “But—”          

            “Gnome, I know you want some of that Puckzilla ass, so don’t even give us that act anymore,” Santana cut her off.

            “What I am disputing, _Santana_ , is the fact that you’re trying to get us back together without our own free wills,” Rachel said, turning back to the Mastermind whose white board was beginning to fill up with notes for the gleeks. “You’re orchestrating events to manipulate us into getting back together.”

            Everyone blinked at her.

            “We’ve been waiting an entire summer and a semester for you two to get your shit together,” Quinn said. “You both have had ample opportunity. It’s high time for us to start nudging.”

            “Yeah, ‘cause this whole unresolved-sexual-tension during dance numbers is making me uncomfortable,” Mercedes said.

            “This is hardly nudging. This is full-scale pushing,” Rachel said.

            “No, no, on this level? This is us picking up the both of you and throwing you at each other,” Blaine said, nodding contemplatively.

            Rachel grimaced. “Has it really—”

            “Yes.” The Mastermind shot her a no-nonsense look. “And you can take this as your opportunity to practice your acting.”

            “I’m not going to act with Noah!”

            “I mean acting like you’re not in on the plan, stupid!”

            “Oh.”

            “Yes. Now, moving on. The next day will be these new aviators since Finn sat on his first pair.”

            “I’m sorry!” Finn cried. “That really hurt too! The metal poked through my jeans and my underwear.”

            “Hence the fact he wouldn’t pick it up without some sort of hand covering. So this new pair will be an appropriate gift for what I have in mind. Wait for it: a snow day.”

            Santana was less than impressed. “What are we? Four?”

            “No, we’re still _kids_ , and so we’re gonna take advantage of that and play. Puck acts like he’s the next in line to Chuck Norris’s Throne of Badassery, but he loves— _loves_ —playing in the snow.”

            “Correction: he loves _attacking me_ in the snow. I’m always his main target whenever we have snowball fights,” Finn groused.

            “That’s because hitting you is easier than hitting the broad side of a barn,” Kurt said through his teeth, finally climbing over Blaine and whacking Mike in the face with his scarf to get a cookie.

            “Whatever. Puck loves snow days, so we’re gonna give him a snow day. If y’all wanna eat, though, you gotta bring the food. The next day is…well, we’ll leave that up to Rachel. That’s when I’m planning to give him this Surefire flash—”

            “Oh, my God!” Artie squealed. “How did you afford that?! Thing’s worth a hundred-sixty-something bucks!”

            “I’ve been saving up. Anyway, the following days will mostly be focusing on getting Puck what he wants most this year.”

            “His favorite Berry,” Brittany said, throwing her arms around Rachel’s waist.

            “Yeah.”

            “How do you know this will work?” Mike asked. “I feel like there’s a lot that could go wrong with this.”

            “’Cause I _know_ Puck,” was the only explanation. “I’ll hand out your assignments ‘cause even though this is heavily reliant on how well things naturally progress, I’d rather there still be backup plans just in case you’re right, Mike, and something _does_ go wrong.”

            “When are you going to reveal yourself?” Blaine asked.

            “For as long as none of you—especially Rachel—crack under pressure and let it slip, I’ll hold off until the very last day.”

            “What’s the present?” Kurt asked.

            The Mastermind grinned and turned to give Rachel a sweet, innocent smile. “One wish—genie style. I’m about ninety-eight-percent sure I know what he’s gonna ask for anyway.”

            “That’s adorable,” Quinn said, “in a creepy, people-auctioning, slave-trade kind of way. Rachel, are you ready for that?”

            “Anymore questions about the main plot of the plan, people?” the Mastermind called. “No? Okay. Operation Dreidel Games will now commence.”

**~oOo~**

            Puck jerked awake when someone slammed his door shut.

            “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, blearily blinking at the door before turning over and throwing the covers over his head. Then he froze and threw off the covers. He sat up, squinting at the penlight taped to his door, shining down at a cardstock envelope addressed to him.

            He groaned, rolled his eyes, and stumbled out of bed to snatch it off his door. He peeled it open, hoping there wasn’t anthrax in it or something. Last day equals last chance to kill him. He pulled out a card that said in typewriter-print: “Your last present is one wish—anything you want within reason. Your request is to be submitted downstairs, so get your lazy butt down there.”

            Sleep was forgotten.

            So was a shirt.

            Puck wrenched open his door, dressed in nothing but some Batman pajama bottoms, and bounded down the stairs. He was halfway down when he heard the soft hum of more than four voices in his living room, and as soon as he landed on the ground floor, he rounded on the gleeks assembled all around his living room and thundered, “I KNEW IT!” He pointed at Rachel. “I told you it was all y’all banning together, and you said it wasn’t!”

            “No, you said we pitched our money together to buy you all these presents, and we didn’t,” Rachel said calmly from where she primly sat on his ma’s armchair.

            “This was totally not our idea, dude,” Mike said.

            “Honestly, we’re just not creative enough to come up with that coffee-stunt,” Sam added. “We just did the stuff, but we didn’t make it up or buy any of it.”

            “So it wasn’t anything supernatural?” Puck asked warily.

            “No, _estupido_ ,” Santana said. “That was us switching out the mugs when you weren’t looking.”

            “This whole thing was orchestrated by someone I am frankly afraid will grow up to dominate the world,” Kurt said.

            And with that, something hard rammed into Puck’s back, latching legs around his waist and throwing gangly arms around his neck. A loud, smacking kiss was planted on his cheek. “Happy Hanukkah, Noah.”

            “You BRAT!” Puck crowed, grinning as he tugged Bekah around so she was in front of him. “You did this?!”

            She shrugged and dropped back down to the floor. “Yeah. You gave me Hanukkah presents every year since Dad left, so I thought it was time to repay you—before you left to L.A. or New York or wherever.”

            “So you planned all this? The movies? The coffee? Santana’s party?” Puck asked, grabbing her into a headlock.

            “Well, not all of it, jeez. It’s not like I can control that much,” Bekah said.

            “Lies. She’s a thirteen year-old evil mastermind,” Blaine said proudly. “Some of the things she predicted were spot-on.”

            “Yeah, yeah, well, I call it sheer dumb luck,” Bekah said modestly. She punched her brother in the stomach to get him to let go of her. “Now, you gotta tell me what you want for your final present. Dinner? Laundry for a month? The promise to take care of you instead of shoving you in nursing home?”

            Puck smirked and ruffled her hair. “Pssh, for this year, I pretty much have the thing I wanted most anyway.”

            “Oh, really?” Bekah asked with one raised eyebrow. “’Cause the way I see it, I think you’ve only _assumed_ you’ve had it instead of asking for it the right way.”

            He pinched her nose and pursed his lips at her, knowing exactly what she was thinking.

            “Ask for it, Noah,” she insisted, grinning and dodging his attacks.

            Puck sighed and finally turned to Rachel. If his creeper, his _baby sister_ , wanted him to do this the right way, he was gonna do this the right way. _Surefire flashlight_ , man. She may think she owed him, but after this whole thing, he owed her. He walked over and pulled Rachel out of the chair.

            “Rachel,” he began and was immediately interrupted by Kurt and Brittany’s squeals.

            “Shut up!” Blaine and Sam barked simultaneously.

            Puck rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, setting his hands on Rachel’s hips. “Berry, will you be my girlfriend?” he asked quietly, bending close to her.

            She grinned, and rubbed his forearms. “Are you sure about this, Noah?” she asked, a familiar question. “Can you handle the ups and downs of loving an admittedly high maintenance girl?”

            “Dear God,” Mercedes whispered through her grin.

            Puck chuckled and pressed his forehead against Rachel’s. “Bring it.”

**The End**


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